A Husband's Love
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A bit of love for our darling Elsie following her husband's retirement from Downton Abbey. Written to fulfull the #unofficialdaS7 challenge by the lovely chelsie fan. Updates every Sunday for nine weeks, and a finale Christmas chapter on Christmas Day 2016.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is a bit late but it's meant to fulfill the challenge Chelsiefan71 dreamed up for a "Downton Abbey S7." It should have about ten chapters overall, and they'll be fairly short. Not beta-read so please pardon any typos.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

Charles Carson slowly makes his way into the servants' entrance. He's finally managed to stop knocking on that door, after several scoldings from both his wife and the current butler. It had seemed inappropriate to him to just walk in when he's not employed there any longer, but he supposes it could be worse: the family could have insisted that he use the _front_ door … in which case he'd be meeting Elsie at the path to walk her home instead, because there is _no way_ he'd ever pass through the front door of Downton Abbey as a guest.

He's feeling a bit anxious today, truth be told. It's been a very long week and Elsie has put in many extra hours preparing for some special guests who will be arriving in the morning. She's managed to finagle a full day off the day _after_ their arrival by working out a special schedule with her Ladyship, and Charles knows that his wife has no idea of what he's trying to piece together for that day off. The problem is, things aren't _quite_ as well put-together by this point as he'd have liked, and the stress of the unknown is wearing him down.

 _You'll just have to persevere,_ he tells himself as he takes a seat in his wife's parlour. _Because it's her birthday in two days' time, and no amount of worrying is going to change that._

"Mr. Carson?"

He turns at the sound of the cook's voice.

"Don't bother, I'm about to sit myself," she says, clearly exhausted. She deposits a tea tray on the sideboard and then takes Elsie's chair with a huff.

"Daisy just finished the cake and has sent it out the door with Andrew," Mrs. Patmore whispers. "With any luck, your wife will be detained a bit longer upstairs - and by this tea I've just brought - and you won't even encounter him on the path to the cottage."

"Thank you," he says with a broad smile. "That's about the only part of this entire plan that is going _well."_

"Oh, no. What happened?"

He turns his head to verify that no one is lurking outside the doorway before replying.

"It hasn't arrived," he whispers, clearly worried.

"What? But it's been ages!" Mrs. Patmore's eyes are wide. "Surely they confirmed that it would be ready on time?"

"That they did," he nods. "And I phoned yesterday just to be sure, and they told me it was just completed."

"And so it will be delivered … when?"

"I thought today," he replies, dejected. "So hopefully tomorrow."

"Well, I suppose you're lucky it's being delivered at all instead of simply mailed through the post."

Charles starts as he hears his wife's heels clicking on the floor; he and the cook jump up, and Mrs. Patmore reaches for the tea tray she brought in and pours three steaming mugs for them.

"There you are," Charles says, his voice rumbling as he bends to kiss Elsie on the cheek.

"Mm, hello, love," she murmurs, clearly struggling with fatigue. Charles squeezes her hip briefly but then backs away. He's become more comfortable expressing his love for his wife under their best friend's eyes, but he's ever-conscious of the open door to the sitting room.

"Mrs. Patmore, thank you for this." Elsie accepts the cup of tea and takes her seat, noting silently that it's warm and smiling at the cook in thanks for keeping Charles company while he waited.

"My pleasure."

The three sit in silence for a few moments, each of them lost in their own thoughts, before Elsie yawns loudly.

"You need to be getting home," Mrs. Patmore says with a raised eyebrow. "I've no doubt that tomorrow will be an early start and another late finish."

"Ah, but you see, _tomorrow_ I can spend looking forward to having the _next_ day off," Elsie says with a tired laugh. She puts her teacup and saucer on the tray and adds her husband's to them as he fetches her coat from the rack.

Mrs. Patmore looks on fondly as Charles attends to his wife, helping her with the coat and holding her hat while she does up the buttons.

Elsie catches her friend's glance in the mirror. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Mrs. Patmore replies, shaking her head and smiling. "Just … you two."

"What about us?" Charles asks.

She picks up the tea tray and nudges the door open with her foot before turning to answer.

"I'm glad you finally got there in the end, Mr. Carson. That's all. Good night, you lovebirds." With a nod in Elsie's direction and a smirk, Mrs. Patmore turns and exits the room, somehow managing to pull the door shut behind herself.

Charles turns to his wife with his eyebrows raised, looking a bit embarrassed despite his happiness. "Lovebirds?" he whispers.

"Oh, Charlie," she coos, putting her hands on his waist and pulling him close. "She's right about _that,_ you know."

"I beg your pardon?" he replies mischievously. "Charles Carson is no lovebird."

He bends down and she and kisses him firmly, breaking away only when she hears him hum happily.

"I happen to disagree. And as nice as this is, and as _unusual_ as it is that no one walked through my door just now, I need to be getting back to the cottage before you have to carry me there."

He reaches for the door and opens it, then places his hand on the small of her back as she walks through.

"I would, you know," he murmurs in her ear as she passes by.

She stops short and turns to face him, her eyes full of her adoration.

"I know you would, and I love you for it." She takes a step closer and stands on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "But if you put your back out before my special day off, Charlie, I'll never forgive you."

And, with that, she turns and leaves a stunned (and slightly blushing) husband in her wake.

"Are you planning to walk me home, Mr. Carson?" she calls down the servants' corridor.

He shakes his head to clear it and hurries to her side.

"Always, Mrs. Carson," he smiles. "Let's go."

 ** _TBC_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! You guys - thanks for the amazing reviews! There seems to be some snag with replies (again) but I'm working on them. Nevertheless, I was able to read them in my email and I *thank you* very much! This next installment is unbeta'd, but I've messed with it so much that I'm just calling it *done* and putting it out there. :)**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _Elsie's Birthday, Part 1_

"Oh, _my,"_ Elsie gasps, her head falling back onto the pillow. She reaches out blindly and strokes her husband's arm as she catches her breath, her other arm resting over her head, fingers still clenched around the pillow.

"Happy Birthday, love," Charles murmurs, trailing a few kisses across her collarbone and shoulder before collapsing in a heap beside her.

She laughs, a sweet sound that echoes in their room. The window is cracked open, allowing the morning breeze and a whisper of birdsong to come floating in.

"Indeed it is," she replies, tucking herself underneath his arm and resting her head on his chest. "I do love you, Charlie."

She doesn't even have to see his face to know he's smirking.

"I see," he teases, reaching over to trail a finger down her side. "You love me when I wake you up with kisses and caresses, you mean."

"I do," she admits, lifting herself up so that she can see his face, "but I love you all the other times, too. I trust that you know that."

She trails her fingertips through the damp hair on his brow. Her eyes are filled with love and joy, and Charles is reminded once again that he is, perhaps, the luckiest man alive.

"I love you, too," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion and sleepiness. "Rest, birthday girl. It's still early."

She hums in agreement as she drapes one leg over his and snuggles into his embrace before they both drift off into another deep, contented slumber.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Elsie wakes again a couple hours later, the smell of bacon and eggs filtering into the bedroom. She gets up slowly, smiling as she realizes she needs a moment to encourage her legs not to wobble as she's walking. She glances at her nightgown, long-since discarded in a heap on the floor with her knickers, and she shrugs before stepping over it to fetch her dressing gown instead.

She ties the sash and makes her way to the kitchen, wondering for a moment who this new Elsie is, this woman who seems to have been spontaneously created the moment her husband's lips first touched her own. She walks over to where Charles stands at the counter, buttering some toast.

"That smells delectable," she tells him, wrapping her arms around him and placing a kiss to his shoulder blade.

"Your 'warm bread,' you mean?" He turns to drop a kiss to her hair before addressing the sizzling bacon once again. "I think these are done," he mutters, and she reaches for the teapot and tin.

"You've not yet told me what we're doing today, Charles. I know you've got something up your sleeve." She dumps the tea leaves in and pours the hot water over them as he finishes up with the food; each maneuvers effortlessly around the other to accomplish their tasks, the same in marriage as they've always been at work.

" _Two_ somethings," he says proudly, and he walks around her to deposit a platter full of food on the table.

"Two?"

He turns to see her leaning back against the counter, a look of surprise on her face.

"Why two?"

"They go together," he tells her as he drags her to the table. "Now, stop asking questions and sit and eat while it's hot."

She complies, meeting his smile with her own and he fills their plates.

"Charles, this is delicious!" She's happy to deliver the praise, knowing how hard he's been working in order to be able to cook a few simple meals.

"Thank you," he says proudly. "I think I've got the hang of the eggs now. If I wait for the water to be at a full boil, they come out much better."

"They're _perfect."_

After they've eaten, Elsie attempts to clean up, but she's shooed away by her doting husband.

"A relaxing bath, perhaps, for the birthday girl," he tells her, kissing the tip of her nose. "And no work whatsoever."

"And then?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

But he just chuckles and shakes his head. "Ohh, no. You'll find out soon enough. Now, off you go."

She sighs with a trace of exasperation but does as she's told.

 _After all,_ she thinks, _the long, hot bath sounds absolutely heavenly, indeed._

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Elsie finds him later out on the patio, reclining in his chair, his fingers laced together across his stomach as he revels at relaxing in the sun despite the cool breeze in the air. She stares at him for a moment, contemplating their life together, so utterly happy that she can scarcely believe it at times. To think she'd once considered proposals from Joe Burns who, while a kind and considerate man, simply didn't hold a candle to Charles. She's ever-so-glad they've gone another way, even if it took so long for them to get there.

True, their marriage had a bit of a rocky start. Neither of them had anticipated how difficult it would be to be responsible for all of the cooking and cleaning and most of the maintenance of the cottage while still employed their full hours at the Abbey. Soon enough, their long days at work, which were followed by longer evenings at home, began to overshadow the new joys that nights spent in one another's arms had brought. Tensions had risen inside of the cottage as the days had worn on, and marriage had suddenly seemed like more work than either of them had expected. They'd bickered constantly, and she hadn't been able to figure out how to fix that in their home the way she'd have fixed it in the Abbey.

It had all come to a head when Elsie had fessed up about the cooking ruse, but by then Charles had come to realize that his wife was, understandably, exhausted from trying to keep up with it all … and that he and his perfectionist ways had not helped whatsoever. A long afternoon spent listing the tasks they needed to accomplish compared with the time available every day to actually _do_ them had instituted quite a few changes; when Charles had been forced into retirement, that list had altered once again. He'd taken it upon himself to learn to cook a bit; so, in addition to a few simple breakfast foods on Elsie's days off, he was also responsible for producing dinner twice a week. Elsie also cooked twice, on the days when she was able to arrive home at a reasonable hour, and they dined at the Abbey on the other evenings, scheduling Charles's meetings with Mr. Barrow beforehand.

Given all the difficulties and hurt feelings that those early days had brought, Elsie realizes that she's a very lucky woman, indeed. She's married to her best friend, the one who - above all others - has always made her want to be her very best self in everything. They challenge one another intellectually, and she's discovered a sense of humor within him that runs even deeper than she'd originally thought.

 _And there's passion,_ she thinks proudly. And once she'd gotten over her initial misgivings, and once she'd seen the effect that wholly sharing herself with him would have on her, she'd discovered quite a bit about her _own_ desires as well.

"Elsie? What's got you off in the clouds?"

Her husband's voice brings her out of her reverie and she walks over to him, clasping his hands as she stands before him.

"Oh, nothing," she says softly, and he encourages her to sit on his lap. She lowers herself slowly and turns a bit to face him, her arms dangling lazily over his shoulders. "No, that's not true. You _._ Me." She glances over the garden. "Our home. Our _life."_

"That's rather a lot for 'nothing,'" he says with a teasing raise of his brow.

"Nothing _bad,"_ she clarifies, leaning in for a kiss. "Actually, Mr. Carson, everything is wonderful," she adds in a murmur against his lips.

He hums his agreement as their lips part, and he drops one more kiss to her cheek.

"I have something for you," he says, and he's overjoyed as her eyes light up, a spark of the young girl she once was.

"May I have it now?"

"You may."

He helps her up and she sits in her own chair, facing his, and Charles deposits a rather large box in her lap.

She furrows her brow at him, but he's simply smiling at her. The box is the size of a large dress box, but she knows well enough from years of being a maid and from the weight of the box that it can't possible _be_ a dress.

Charles stares at her as she worries her lip while tugging on the ribbon, and he knows she's concerned that he's spent too much, done something too extravagant, thinks that whatever is in the box is something she doesn't deserve.

"Don't," he says, his voice quietly rumbling, and he reaches out to smooth her lip with his thumb, his hand cupping her cheek. "Please."

She smiles guiltily and nods before peeling away the paper and sliding open the top of the box.

"Oh, Charlie," she whispers, and a tear slides down her cheek. "It's gorgeous."

Inside, expertly laid in fancy tissue, is what will be the finest coat she's ever owned.

* * *

 **To be continued ... I'd love to know what you thought! x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Elsie's Birthday, part 2 of ? We'll see how it goes. :) As with all my fics, the only thing I have in mind is the "end game."**

 **Unbeta'd.**

* * *

 _Previously:_

 _Charles stares at her as she worries her lip while tugging on the ribbon, and he knows she's concerned that he's spent too much, done something too extravagant, thinks that whatever is in the box is something she doesn't deserve._

 _"Don't," he says, his voice quietly rumbling, and he reaches out to smooth her lip with his thumb, his hand cupping her cheek. "Please."_

 _She smiles guiltily and nods before peeling away the paper and sliding open the top of the box._

 _"Oh, Charlie," she whispers, and a tear slides down her cheek. "It's gorgeous."_

 _Inside, expertly laid in fancy tissue, is what will be the finest coat she's ever owned ..._

* * *

"Charles," Elsie gasps as she fingers the collar of the coat. "This is _stunning."_

She looks up at him, her eyes still shimmering with the tears that have yet to fall. "You daft man. I neither need nor deserve this."

She's shaking her head slowly and he can't help but to reach over and take her chin between his thumb and forefinger, stopping her movement and forcing her to meet his steady gaze.

"One of those things _may_ be true," he allows quietly. "But sometimes it's nice to receive something you don't precisely _need._ As for the other ... You deserve every lovely thing in this world, Elsie, even if you never believe it. And I have a lifetime to make up for in terms of providing them."

Her tears fall again, and he brushes them away with his thumbs. "Let's see if the fit is correct, shall we?" he encourages.

With a shaky nod, Elsie stands and lays the box on the seat of the chair. She pulls the coat out, marveling at the beauty of it - a simple, single-breasted design, made of fine wool in a deep burgundy color. The lining is tan; she knows the coat will suit her coloring marvelously. But her favorite thing is the weight of it. It's not too heavy, and will keep her perfectly warm during the in-between seasons, when she needs the extra warmth but when the winter wool is simply too much.

Charles takes the coat from her and motions for her to turn; she complies, and he slips it over her arms and shoulders and allows her to button herself in.

"It's perfect," she marvels. "How did you manage it?"

His face is alight with mischief. "I had it tailored to your measurements."

"What?" She'd assumed he'd gone into a shoppe and chosen one from the rack. "How in the world ...?" She's at a complete loss.

"I had Miss Baxter help me. She came for a visit a few weeks back and we measured the green one."

That earns him a brilliant smile. "Your favorite. And mine, come to think of it ... until now."

"Yes," he nods. "Miss Baxter compared it to the blue one you wear now, which suits your current size more, but I know you've always preferred the length and style of the green. She estimated a bit, of course. But I put my faith in her, and here is the result."

"The seamstress who made it must have been beside herself about never having actually _seen_ me," Elsie murmurs as she turns to try and see the back of the coat.

"Yes, I believe there was a bit of concern about that," he chuckles. "But I paid her up front, and it seems she knows her trade well."

Elsie moves to place her hand on Charles's cheek and then a kiss on his lips. "Thank you," she murmurs against his mouth.

Charles deepens the kiss briefly, then backs away as he remembers that he's not quite done gifting his wife. "There is still present number two."

"Ah, yes. Although I'm not sure that I can handle another gift like _this."_

"Well, it's not a gift, per se," he hedges. He takes his seat and encourages her to sit on his lap, and she readily complies. "It's a destination."

Elsie's eyebrows fly up. "A destination?"

"A club. A dinner club."

" _A club?!"_

Charles laughs, a glorious, deep sound that always makes his wife's heart beat a little faster. He's so much more carefree when it's just the two of them in their home, and she feels a pang at the thought of how she could so easily have missed out on knowing him in this way.

 _But … a_ _ **club?**_

"Charles, you don't _approve_ of nightclubs," she reminds him.

"Ohh no," he clarifies instantly. "Not one of _those_ clubs; not one for the young people. This is a very respectable dinner club, with ballroom dancing afterward."

He doesn't miss the happy expression at the mention of the dancing.

"But … surely that type of thing doesn't exist around here?"

"No," he admits, a gleam in his eye. "But there _is_ one in London."

"London? Charles, we can't possibly get to London and back in a day _and_ go to this club." She's utterly baffled, and he sees her excitement fade to confusion and then to dismay in the span of a few seconds as she's trying to make sense of it all.

He says nothing, but raises an eyebrow at her and waits for the penny to drop.

Her eyes fly open wider only to narrow instantly as she realizes just _how_ sneaky her husband has been.

"You didn't," she whispers.

"I may have," he admits.

"You … you _plotter!"_ She swats his chest playfully.

"I learn from the best."

"You've ... You've somehow negotiated another day off for me, haven't you?"

"Sort of."

He watches in unbridled amusement as his wife's eyes narrow once again, but - for the first time since he began this elaborate plotting - he considers that he may have overstepped a bit.

"Charles?" She draws the word out, accentuating the 'r' in her deep, beautiful brogue as she enunciates the next three words. _"How ... many ... days?"_

"Four," he says semi-confidently, and she almost falls over.

"Four … _Four_ days off?"

"Well, that doesn't include today ..."

"What?" Elsie's voice is high now, almost squeaky with her astonishment.

"Her Ladyship insisted," Charles tells her. "Today is your regular day off, and I asked for tomorrow and explained what I had planned. She told me in no uncertain terms that we were to make a long weekend out of it, and she immediately spoke to Miss Baxter about it. I confess that I've only booked two nights, though, so we'll be returning on Friday and be home in time for dinner."

"Wait. That means we're leaving today."

She watches as her husband pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time.

"In three hours and ten minutes," he confirms with a nod, clicking the watch closed again. "Yes."

"And we'll have an entire weekend at home with nothing to do, and I don't return to work until Monday?"

"Precisely."

Elsie begins to mutter to herself, and Charles catches words like _daft_ and _foolish_ and _holiday_ and _wonderful._

"Wait," she says, a bit more loudly now that she's worked through the possibilities in her mind. "Three hours and ... I need to pack and tidy and -"

"And you have _plenty_ of time," he says, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You need two outfits, you'll more than likely wear this coat, and I already have my own things set aside. The cottage is spotless, and you always leave your keys at the Abbey anyhow. Miss Baxter and Anna are dividing your duties; it's already been arranged _and_ approved by Mr. Barrow."

He's worried that he's upset her, but when he feels her arms cover his shoulders and give him a healthy squeeze, he knows he's well and truly surprised her in the best of ways.

"I love you, Charles Carson," she murmurs against his forehead, upon which she's placed a gentle kiss. "I truly, truly do."

He pats her bottom playfully as they break apart.

"Then go pack," he teases her. "And, Elsie?"

"Mm-hm?"

He leans forward and whispers in her ear. "Leave the nightgown behind."

She smiles at him and raises an eyebrow. "O-ho! Confident, aren't ye?"

Her slip back into the brogue makes him chuckle. "Oh, yes," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I know my wife."

Elsie just shakes her head at him as she unbuttons the coat, biting down on the inside of her cheek and blushing because his words ring true. She hands it to him and watches as he folds it expertly over his arm.

"Off with you, Elsie. You wouldn't want to be late."

"No," she agrees. "Because it seems as though my lovely husband has planned the best birthday of my life."

She turns and heads back into the cottage, and he watches her as she walks away. She truly takes his breath away sometimes, and this is one of those times. The delight in her face, the incredibly surprised reaction, and the love that shone forth from her eyes when she realized he'd put so much planning into her special day - they'd all served to bolster his confidence immensely. He's proud of how they've worked their way into this now-comfortable marriage, and it occurs to him now that having gotten past all of that beginning awkwardness as a _team_ has enabled the both of them to be truly different people than they were even a year ago.

They're not simply just 'Mr. Carson' and 'Mrs. Hughes' anymore, but a new and exciting pair that he's very much enjoying getting to know.

"Charles?"

He looks up suddenly, not realizing in his musings that she's returned to the doorway.

"What is it, love?"

She walks over to him slowly, with some amount of trepidation, and he again wonders if he's gone too far.

"Elsie? You look as if something is worrying you. I hope I've not truly overstepped. I just wanted to surprise you."

She shushes him with two cool fingers placed over his lips.

"Charlie," she asks quietly, slowly, "what would you say if I proposed _not_ returning to the cottage on Friday?"

He's intrigued. "Stay another night in London, you mean? I don't see why not. I'd have to call the hotel, but I'm sure we could change the train tickets and the reservation."

"Nooo ..." She's draws the word out slowly, and he waits. "I mean, what if we took a ... well, a _detour_ on the way home? A fairly _long_ detour?"

She shakes her head at her almost foolishness at even thinking about it, but now that the thought is in her mind she knows it'll never let her be if she tries to ignore it. "I shouldn't even ask, because you've spent all this time putting everything together. The coat, the trip, the club, the hotel, not to mention talking to her Ladyship and the _cost_ of it all, and I don't mean to sound as if it's not enough, because it surely is, except I can't stop think-"

He isn't sure how to make her stop _talking_ and so he just leans forward and kisses her soundly and, evidently, effectively.

"Elsie," he says slowly, his eyes bright with understanding. "Do you mean ...? Truly?"

She nods. "Would it even be possible?"

"I'm sure it would be," he smiles. "Add my darker grey suit to my valise, if you would, and I'll see what I can do about finding accommodations. If you're _absolutely_ sure," he says again.

"I am," she insists, squeezing his hand. "When am I going to have this much time off again?"

She smiles lovingly at him, her eyes bright with childlike excitement.

"When you're retired," he says, not missing a beat.

"Yes, well ..." She smooths down his shirt around the buttons. "I think it's high time you met your sister-in-law. I don't want to wait until I'm retired for that."

He hears the uncertainty in her voice, hovering just behind the excitement at seeing the sister she's not visited in almost three years.

"If you're sure, Elsie, then I can tell you this: _nothing_ would make me happier than to be able to meet Becky and have her celebrate your birthday with us. Now ... _Go. Pack."_

She looks up, smiles, and nods enthusiastically before turning and nearly running up to their bedroom to fetch her things.

With a hearty chuckle, Charles makes his way to his desk and picks up the telephone, hoping fervently that something in the way of lodging will be available for a Friday night by the sea.

 _t_ _bc_

* * *

 **Thanks so much for all of your lovely words. The reviews are so thoughtful, and I wish I could reply to the Guest reviewers as well. Please consider setting up an account, even if you never want to follow, favorite, or write a thing. It's lovely to be able to send a personal 'thank you' to each reviewer.**

 **The new chelsie-prompt on tumblr is "Dancing." Perfect timing. Until next week, folks! I hope you're continuing to enjoy my foray into #unofficialDAs7.**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to you all for your kind reviews. :)**

 **This chapter is a two-for-one special, fulfilling this week's #unofficialDAs7 and ALSO the most recent chelsie-prompt on tumblr, which was "Dancing."**

 **I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a little review if you feel so inclined. x**

 **CSotA**

* * *

As Elsie places the last of her items in her suitcase, she sighs happily. She's not quite sure how her birthday could get any better - the second time she's had that thought today.

In the span of a few short hours, she's had her every wish graciously granted by Charles. She woke up _very_ early this morning to the feel of her husband's lips ghosting across her chest and remembers thinking that her birthday wouldn't be getting much better than _that_. Yet now, here she stands, her hand on the latch of a suitcase packed for a surprise holiday, a trip which is to be filled with dinner, dancing, and sightseeing in London with her beloved husband, after which they'll travel north to visit with Becky ... to _meet_ Becky, in his case.

She buckles the strap just as she hears Charles coming up the stairs.

"All set?" he asks as he enters the room and stands beside her, allowing his left hand to land on her hip.

"I believe so," she answers, leaning into him. "I do hope there are no _more_ surprises, Charlie. I'm not sure if I could take it!"

"How about just a little one?" he asks quietly, reaching his other arm out in front of her. In his hand, which is trembling slightly, he's holding a plate with a delicious-looking, small cake on it.

"Happy Birthday, love," he says, kissing her temple. "From the staff."

She looks back at him, her surprise quite evident. "Should I even ask _how_ you managed to bring home a cake without my knowing about it?"

His laughter rumbles up from deep inside of him, and she can feel it where her back touches his chest. "Well, I think I'll let that be my little secret." He backs away a bit, moving his other hand to steady the plate, and he sees a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Fine." She pouts playfully as she reaches a finger toward the frosting. She swipes it through and then lifts it to her mouth, slowly licking the frosting off of her fingertip as her husband watches, slightly slack-jawed.

"Pity we have to leave so soon," she smirks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Indeed," he manages, his cheeks suddenly flushed. He places the cake plate on the side table and then wraps Elsie in a hug, bending down to kiss the soft spot on her neck that they both love. "But there's always later."

"There is," she giggles, pushing him away. "Now, you finish packing while I enjoy my cake. I didn't get to your extra suit yet. And _then,_ I believe we have a train to catch!"

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

They arrive at the hotel, and Elsie is thrilled with their lovely room. It's not fancy, but it's well-appointed and clean and there's an ensuite bath.

She turns and wraps her arms around her husband's waist. "It's perfect," she murmurs into his chest. "Thank you so much, Charles."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you're not upset with me."

"Upset? Why would I be?"

He pulls away to look her in the eyes. "Because I went behind your back and spoke to the family about your birthday. Because I took it upon myself to arrange everything with the staff even though I'm no longer employed there. Because … because _you_ don't _like_ surprises, Elsie," he finishes, tapping her on the nose. "And everyone knows that."

"Yes, well," she hedges, smoothing his lapel with her fingertips. "I suppose that, every now and then, a surprise _can_ be a good thing."

"That's true," he replies. "Now, we should change if we're to make dinner at the appointed time."

"Do I have time to freshen up a bit from the trip?"

"You do."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

They walk to the restaurant from the hotel; the night is fairly mild, and their hearts are light as Elsie tucks her hand in Charles's arm while they chatter about small things.

"What's she like?" Charles asks suddenly. "I mean … I know you've told me a great deal, but …"

"Who? Becky?" Elsie sighs contentedly, then smiles. "Oh, she's lovely, Charlie. Her mind has slipped these last couple of years, but she sounds like her usual, happy self in her letters. I'm not sure what you want to know, though, that I've not already told you. I've shared the letters with you."

He purses his lips as his brow furrows, and they walk a great many more steps over the cobblestones before he speaks.

"I suppose I'm nervous about meeting her," he admits.

"Nervous? Oh, Charlie … why?" She squeezes his arm in hers and their steps become slower.

"What will she think of me, Elsie? Will I be good enough? What has she imagined?"

Elsie lets out a laugh. "She never imagined I'd marry; you can be sure of that!"

"Precisely what I mean."

He stops and turns to her, taking her hands in his. "Elsie, you turned your back on a married life long ago. She's had you to herself all these years. Will she be angry at having to share you? At my … pushing in?"

She reaches up and brushes his cheek with the backs of her fingertips. "Oh, Charlie," she soothes him. "She's happy that I'm happy. Becky's needs are very simple, love. She doesn't have the capacity to overthink everything like you do."

He smiles sheepishly, and tilts his head to acknowledge the truth in her words.

"She will see my radiant smile, and she will see her handsome brother-in-law. She'll be shy at first, and then you'll win her over with your kind and thoughtful ways."

"And she'll wrap me around her little finger, just like her sister has."

Elsie's eyes widen slightly, the memory of the Mrs. Patmore's declaration fresh in her mind.

"Do you really think of us in that way? That I've got you wrapped around my finger, with you helpless to do anything about it?"

"Not helpless," he clarifies, looking around and making sure they're relatively alone on the road before brushing his lips against hers. "But you have _completely_ got me under your spell. Now, let's go eat."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

The meal was glorious. Elsie had asked Charles to order for them both, and she isn't sure which she liked better: the food or the incredible wine he'd chosen to accompany it.

The musicians have begun setting up, and Elsie can feel her excitement growing. She and Charles have never been properly dancing before, and she can't wait to spend an hour or more twirling around in his strong arms. She's always been a good dancer, and she knows he's excellent; it's a wonder to them both that they've only danced together once - at their wedding, for about a minute and a half.

"May I have this dance?"

Charles is standing before her, his hand extended, and she smiles demurely.

"You may."

He leads her onto the dance floor and she places one hand on his back, the other in his hand.

The music picks up, and they stop all conversation in order to concentrate on the tempo. After a minute or two they've gotten the hang of it, but more time is spent smiling and gazing at one another than at making any insignificant conversation.

Two songs are played, then a third.

"Are you alright?" Charles asks at one point, noting his wife's flushed appearance.

"Perfectly well, Mr. Carson. And you?"

He pulls her a bit closer as the music slows. "Much the same, Mrs. Carson."

After two more songs, they take a short rest. Charles fetches them something cold to drink, and Elsie finds herself beside a rather handsome gentleman of about forty years of age.

"That was quite impressive," he says to her.

"I beg your pardon?" Elsie smiles at him; after a moment of examining his features, she realizes that he reminds her very much of William Mason, and it occurs to her that William would be about that age now had he survived his injuries from the war.

"You and your husband, ma'am," he says. "You're the best dancers here tonight by far."

"Oh," she says, shaking her head and blushing slightly, "I doubt that very much."

"It's true," he insists with a smile. "I'm here somewhat frequently, but I've not seen you here before."

"Oh, we're not from the area," she explains. "We're just here on a bit of a holiday."

"Very nice. Well, I hope you're not done for the evening," he says, extending his hand. "James Morton."

"Elsie Carson," she replies taking his hand as Charles returns to her side. "My husband, Charles."

"A pleasure," James says, shaking Charles's hand. "I was just telling your wife that you two are the best dancers here, Mr. Carson."

"I doubt that," he replies, echoing his wife's words. "It's our first time."

James's eyes shoot up. "You're kidding."

A light giggle escapes Elsie's lips. "Mr. Carson doesn't kid. I can assure you. This _is_ our first time dancing … well, _anywhere,_ except for a few moments at our wedding reception."

"So it's clearly been a while," James says amiably. "That's lovely."

It's Charles's turn to smile. "So it's been six months," he gently corrects, enjoying the look of surprise on the young man's face. "And we thank you. We're quite enjoying ourselves."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then. It was a pleasure meeting both of you."

They watch James leave, and Charles sees the wistful look on his wife's face.

"He rather resembles our William," he says quietly.

"'Our William,'" she repeats, giving her husband a loving glance. "Yes, my thoughts exactly."

They finish their punch and Charles puts the empty glasses on a side table.

"Once more around?" He extends her hand, and she places her fingers in his palm.

"At least once, Charlie," she tells him with a smile. "I find I rather like being whisked around the room in your arms."

"That's good," he says, drawing her closer, "because I find that in them is my favorite place for you to be."

James watches from the sidelines, smiling, and a young brunette joins him.

"Do you know them?" she asks.

"Mr. and Mrs. Charles Carson," he replies, tucking her hand in his. "Newlyweds."

"No kidding," she marvels. "They dance as though they've been together for a lifetime."

He watches as Charles spins Elsie around the floor again and smiles. "I know."

"Do you think we'll look like that when we're their age?"

James squeezes her hand, feeling the small diamond solitaire pressing into his palm.

"I hope so, love," he replies softly, his eyes still on the Carsons. "I hope so."

 ** _TBC_**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks again to all who have sent love for this fic. I'm rather enjoying angst-free with Charles doting on his lovely wife.**

 **For my tumblr followers, I've moved to a new blog. It's simply csota dot tumblr dot com, and it will be the place I post fic updates.**

 **Much love to chelsie fan for setting up this S7 challenge, and to Hogwarts Duo for proofreading and general encouragement on this chapter, which turned out _nothing_ like I had planned.**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

The fire is crackling away in the hearth, and Charles hums as he lazily twirls his wife's hair through his fingertips. He revels in the silkiness of it and thinks how it was the one expectation he'd had about what marriage would be like that had been precisely as he'd imagined. He'd quite literally spent years contemplating the appearance and color of Elsie's hair, and how it would always shine in the sunlight … and how it might feel in his hands.

"I love lying with you like this," he says after a while, and he can feel her smile where her cheek rests over his heart. He knew she was awake, but she seems quite happy to remain silent for the moment; it's never been her way to speak when no words are necessary, and he doesn't need her to tell him that she craves the quiet intimacy of lying together as much as he does ... how, at the end of each day, a few minutes in each other's arms always feels like it can wash away any struggles the day has brought.

 _But there were no struggles today,_ he tells himself. _Just this - just **us.** And she's no need to speak, because she can most likely hear **your** thoughts anyhow, and they're quite enough to ponder._

"I feel like it's been _my_ birthday and not yours," he says quietly. "It was a day filled with my favorite things."

"I thoroughly enjoyed them all, too, Charlie," she murmurs, placing a kiss to his chest.

"I know you did. And I love you for it." He draws his arms up and squeezes her in a gentle embrace, bending to kiss her atop the soft hair he was so recently stroking.

The entire day had been just as he had planned. They'd begun with a leisurely breakfast in bed, and then they'd taken advantage of the sunny morning to stroll up and down the streets of London, with Charles pointing out some of his favorite spots to visit during the Season and Elsie dragging him into a few places to do a bit of holiday shopping while they had the opportunity. She'd been smiling and radiant in her new coat, and he'd been the proudest of men to have her on his arm for all to see.

After dropping their purchases back at the hotel, they'd headed off to the Crystal Palace. Charles had endured endless teasing from his wife about how he'd finally managed to drag _someone_ there, but he knew that she really had enjoyed herself immensely. They'd managed to see over half of the exhibits; Charles had known a great deal about many of them, but on a few he'd deferred to his wife's knowledge instead. While disappointed that they'd missed the Handel by a few months,* they were pleasantly surprised to have been able to attend a different musical performance instead.

Even though it had been a bit late, he'd insisted on bringing her to a rather nice restaurant for dinner. _'Not too over the top,'_ he'd told her, and she'd looked at him as though she didn't believe a word of it, but she'd allowed it because it was her birthday trip. They'd finished a lovely bottle of wine while talking about anything and everything over dinner and then, warm and relaxed, they'd made their way back to the hotel.

Charles feels his heart swell as he remembers closing the door and turning to find his wife standing before him as she slowly unbuttoned her coat. He thinks of how he reached out to slip it from her shoulders, his fingers tingling as they brushed her dress. He smiles, remembering the first time he'd noticed that tingling, on a frigid afternoon when he'd accompanied her back to the Abbey from church in the blustery wind. He remembers having tried unsuccessfully to attribute that tingling to the cold ... thinks how, even then, his heart had been telling him otherwise.

 _And here we are._

Elsie feels him relax his embrace, feels him move his arm once again as his fingers seek out her hair. She shakes her head, a minute movement given her current position listening to his great heart beating, but she knows he feels it.

"What's going on in that great mind of yours, Charlie?" she murmurs.

"I'm surprised you even feel the need to _ask,"_ he teases.

She raises herself up on her elbow and looks into his eyes, sighing.

"You're relaxed ... except you're _not,_ love." She reaches up to brush her fingers across his forehead. "Not in here," she whispers, her eyebrows raised knowingly.

He smiles sweetly at her and she returns to his chest, her arm draped lightly across his abdomen, her fingertips gently gliding up and down his arm. The room is warm, and she's glad of it as the blankets have slipped since she moved.

"Perhaps not. But I'm not unhappy; you must know that."

She nods. "I do."

Charles relaxes back on the pillow, his own fingers caressing his wife's bare back. "I was thinking of how I love this. With you."

She huffs a little laugh, and he chuckles, the sound loud in her ear where it's pressed to him.

"Not like that," he chides lightly. "Well," he amends with a smile, "a _bit_ like that."

Elsie listens as he takes a deep breath, and she waits. Her man doesn't speak his thoughts very often, not the truly personal ones, and she's come to cherish the times when he does.

"Do you know why I married you, Elsie? Why I … well, why I fell in love with you?"

She squeezes him tightly, seriously pondering his question.

"No, I suppose I don't," she admits. She'd always assumed that, one day, he'd realized that he felt some kind of affectionate friendship for her, and that it had evolved into more along the way because - in part - he couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life alone. The fact that he'd confessed to thinking her beautiful, to wanting _more_ than a marriage of convenience, more than a 'warm friendship,' as she'd once called it … well, sometimes she still can't wrap her head around it, even after several months' time being his wife.

"It's because of days like today," he says. "There's not another person alive I'd rather have spent that time at the museum with than you."

"You're only saying that because I went willingly," she jokes.

"Oh, very funny. No, I mean it. It occurred to me when we were at the concert. You truly enjoyed that."

"Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"

He looks down at her, his eyes wandering over her hair, seeing the silver that's crept in among the shimmering, lightening auburn and the disappearing, darker shades of brown.

"That's just it, Elsie. Don't you realize how rare that is?"

"To enjoy music?" She doesn't mean to sound snide, but she can't really follow his train of thought.

"Yes," he laughs. "I mean, you didn't only _enjoy_ it. You have an appreciation for it. You're familiar with the composer, with the style of his music. You knew when one of the musicians hit a wrong note."

He sighs again, trying to put his thoughts into coherent words.

"Do you remember the day we met?"

"Of course," she replies instantly, shifting a bit and moving closer to his shoulder. "You terrified me. When I imagine that _now ..._ "

He clasps her hand when she rests it on his chest. "I didn't mean to. Besides, I think you've got that backwards; _you_ terrified _me."_

"Why on earth do you say that?"

"Oh, let's see. A sharply-dressed, beautiful woman showing up at the door; no-nonsense, lovely accent. Within a day I had you pegged as more intellectual than half the people I've ever met, upstairs or down. You're a voracious reader, you love to debate, and when you feel strongly about something, you not only try to bring others around to your side of things, but you do so with a tact and kindness that is unmatched by _anyone_ I've ever met."

"And that is all endearing to you?" she asks, incredulous. "Because I was forever being told as a lass that those were qualities that would be a bit … well, unwelcome to most men."

She sits up, needing to see him for the rest of this odd conversation. "Charles, I know you're not 'most men,' but you're no feminist, either. What is all this about?"

He reaches for her hand again, squeezing it. "You're right about that," he admits sheepishly. "But, at the end of the day, I think I fell in love with you because I'd met my match, both intellectually and in spirit. You've an appreciation of and a love for things that most people don't bother to ever learn about."

"Ah," she smiles, his thoughts now crystal clear.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say? I'm in love with you, Elsie, because of your beauty and your kindness and your wit … and your _mind._ I feel we're equals, and although I'd never thought I'd say these words, I don't think I could ever have married a woman who _wasn't_ my equal." He reaches up to caress her face, his eyes drinking it in as he does so. "I'm so very blessed."

"Oh, Charlie," she whispers, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing it softly. _"I'm_ the one who's blessed here. Do you understand how strange it is for a man to feel the way you've just described?"

"I think I do," he replies, thinking back on the myriad guests whom the Abbey has hosted … some a bit less gentlemanly than his Lordship. And then he thinks of Lord Grantham himself, who only recently seems to have realized what a strong woman his own wife can be.

The clock chimes, startling them both.

"I'm sorry, Elsie. I should let you sleep."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Really? And me without a nightgown." She laughs at the look on his face, full of a boyish guilt with a slightly naughty gleam. "We slept _last_ night, Charlie," she reminds him, drawing her lip under her teeth.

He watches as she shifts her body again, climbing onto his lap as her hands find their way around the back of his neck, her fingers suddenly buried in his hair.

"We did," he breathes, his hands already sliding up her sides. "But we need to leave at nine for the train."

"And it'll be a long ride, Charlie," she purrs, her lips trailing over his before moving down to the soft spot where his neck meets his shoulders.

"That's true. We can … nap … or something."

She feels his hands end up on her hips and smiles brilliantly at him.

"Remind me to compliment my lovely wife more often," he whispers.

"Oh, don't worry," she says, making her way back to his lips. "I will."

* * *

 _*June, 1926 saw a rather popular performance of Handel's music at the Crystal Palace. It was one of their most popular events._

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this feelsy installment. Next week will bring us to Lytham St. Annes. Please leave a review if you're so inclined. x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It's a long chapter as this fic goes, but I promised you'd all meet Becky, so … here we go. It's a TEENSY bit angsty at one point, but not "real" angst - not if you've read my other stuff, anyhow.**

 **Would love a review if you have a moment after finishing. Shout out to the reviewers who have been so lovely, and to all of my new tumblr followers at my new blog (I can't type it properly here, but it's csota dot tumblr dot com).**

 **Enjoy!**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

The sun is just beginning its descent when they arrive at the station in Lytham Saint Annes, but the wind has picked up a bit and the temperature is dropping - a stark contrast to the bright, cloudless sky they had seen when the train whisked them away from London.

"I'm glad of this new coat, Charlie. I'd nearly forgotten how strong the ocean wind can be here."

His wife's eyes are bright with love, and Charles briefly squeezes her gloved hand in his before bending to pick up their suitcases. She feels the slight tremor but says nothing; no words are necessary, not after all this time.

Charles gets directions from the porter to the inn where they'll be staying, and they walk the short distance from the station, Elsie pointing out the church and the windmill and a few other spots she recognizes from previous visits.

Their room is on the third floor; it's small, but it's clean and light. Elsie loves the embroidered curtains, and she traces the tip of her thumb over one of the blue, stitched flowers before commenting on how well they match the counterpane. Charles hums noncommittally; décor is more his wife's forte, not his, and he's busy perusing the small wine list that the housemaid has left on the side table. He finds one that will be suitable for later, and makes a mental note to order it at the desk on their way to dinner.

He turns to unpack his suitcase when he sees Elsie staring out the window, past the buildings on the other side of the street to the ocean.

Elsie starts when she feels Charles wrap his arms around her, his hands coming to rest over her stomach. She looks down and takes his trembling hand in her calm ones, massaging it with her strong and steady fingers.

"Are you alright?" Charles asks her, but she gives no reply. Seconds later, a tear splashes onto the back of his hand, between the areas where her fingers are working. "Elsie? Oh, love, what is it?"

She shakes her head furiously and swallows. "It's nothing, really. I'm just … well, I think I'm a bit overwhelmed by being able to see Becky again. I just need a moment."

"But overwhelmed in a good way ... yes?" he asks hesitantly.

She bites down on her lip, but he's moved a bit to rest his chin on her head and doesn't notice.

"In a good way, yes," she repeats in a small voice.

 _Mostly._

The fact is, the _entire_ trip has overwhelmed her. There's been so much that _has_ been wonderful, and her husband has treated her like a queen. However, for all the reassurances she'd given _him_ that all would be well, she finds herself a bit unsure about what tomorrow will bring when they finally go to see her sister.

Elsie likes to imagine that Becky will be a bit nervous at first, but that she'll become enamored with Charlie once she sees his kind eyes and expressive eyebrows and once she hears the soft rumble of his voice. But, deep down, she also acknowledges that Becky's reaction could be vastly different. It's been nearly three years since the sisters have seen one another, and the time apart has made them both testy on occasion, desperate to spend precious time cuddled up together on Becky's bed as Becky shares the important happenings in her life, or as Elsie tells the old, familiar stories from when they grew up in Argyll. The problem is that Elsie's not sure how Charles will fit in with all that, and she worries he'll be offended if she asks for some time alone with Becky, particularly after Charles agreed to travel all this way to meet her.

To make matters worse, she's not sure how he'll react if Becky's in a rage, either; Elsie is used to bearing the brunt of Becky's unpredictable anger, but she knows that Charles isn't. Elsie's deepest fear is the knowledge that if she sees any type of disdain or upset on Charles's face as he contemplates her baby sister, it'll just about break Elsie's heart.

And she can hardly tell him _that._

As she massages Charles's trembling away, she pushes her own worries to the back of her mind, leaning back a bit onto his chest and taking a deep, cleansing breath.

"I love you, Charlie," she whispers. "So much that I sometimes cannot even put it into words."

He slips his hand out of her grasp and wraps his arms around her, silently encouraging her to turn around and rest her head on his chest as he embraces her tightly and drops a series of kisses to the top of her head.

"I know you do," he whispers, wishing he could take away whatever is worrying her.

They stay like that until his hand is no longer trembling and until her tears have ceased to fall. As the sun sets and casts its orange glow over the water and off the rooftops, Elsie pulls the drapes shut and Charles lifts their suitcases to unpack for tomorrow. They take care of the mundane task silently, moving around the furniture and one another's bodies effortlessly. Charles smiles when he brushes the small of Elsie's back with his hand, and again when she casually bumps her hip against him and smirks.

 _It's the ease we've always had with one another,_ he thinks, _only ticked up a notch or two._

Elsie is calmer now that she's given each of her fears time to be acknowledged, even if just in her own thoughts, and she takes her husband's hand in hers and raises it to her lips.

"What's that for?" he asks softly.

She looks up at him and smiles.

"Nothing special, Charlie. Let's go have a bite to eat downstairs in the restaurant."

"Anything for the birthday girl," he winks, and he reaches for the room key before holding the door open for her. "After you."

She smiles sweetly and brushes his arm with her hand as she passes through and then turns to watch him lock the door behind her.

The lock clicks and Charles withdraws the key, feeling his wife's eyes on him.

"What is it?"

But she smiles and shakes her head. "It's silly."

"I doubt that. My wife is _rarely_ silly," he says, taking her hand in his as they walk down the empty hotel corridor.

"Alright," she acquiesces quietly. "I was thinking of how I've watched you lock hundreds of doors over the years, but it feels different when it's _our_ door."

He doesn't say anything, and she blushes slightly. "I told you it was silly."

"It's not," he says gruffly, needing to talk around the lump in his throat. He squeezes her hand. "It's wonderful, and it's true. It _does_ feel different now."

They stop before the door to the elevator, and he turns to tuck a loose piece of hair back into her braided arrangement.

"Different … and perfect," he clarifies, and he brushes his knuckles on her cheek as he withdraws her hand.

The elevator's bell cuts off any response she may have had.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

When they return from dinner, Charles opens the door to find that the wine he'd ordered has been delivered and has even been opened to breathe. He motions toward the glasses and Elsie nods, smiling as she passes by him with her things on her way into the bathroom.

When she returns, her hair is brushed out and loose and she's dressed in a nightgown and bathrobe.

Charles can't help but chuckle as he reaches underneath her bathrobe lapel to finger the neckline of her nightgown. _"This_ wasn't in the bargain," he reminds her playfully.

"I know, but really, Charlie," she replies, rolling her eyes. "What if I caught a chill while away? You'd never forgive yourself. Besides, it's quite a bit colder here than at home."

"But you have me," he reminds her, dropping a kiss to her forehead. "And we have this," he adds as he holds out a glass.

"Both true," she concedes, taking her glass from his grasp and clinking it against his. "We'll see."

Charles takes his turn preparing for bed, and they climb in with their wine and a book each, with Elsie resting up against Charles as they both read for a while. However, after about ten minutes, Charles finds himself unable to focus because of his wife's own distraction: she's flicking the corner of a page incessantly with her fingertip, which is driving him nearly mad, and he's almost certain she's read the same passage half a dozen times.

"Elsie, why won't you tell me what it is that's bothering you?"

He watches as her bottom lip disappears, her eyes unfocused on the book before her. He closes his own and lays it on the nightstand and then reaches for hers, slips it from her fingers, and puts it atop his own.

"Elsie, _please."_

She sighs, her breath shaking as she exhales. "I'm nervous, Charlie. About tomorrow." She reaches for his hand and grasps it tightly.

"But … why? I'm very much looking forward to it! And you've already calmed _my_ fears. What has you all worked up?"

It takes her a moment to put her reply into words, and he waits patiently.

"Becky can be very … difficult, Charles. She can have vicious mood swings, and can lash out at times. It's not common, but it's triggered by unease and nerves."

"And you're worried that I'll upset her."

"Not you," she clarifies immediately. "Just the _newness_ of you."

He turns her hand over in his and slowly rubs circles on her palm with his thumb. "Elsie, I'm not sure what you think I expect tomorrow, but perfection is _not_ it. I know it may be challenging; here I am - tall man, booming voice, new brother-in-law … _unknown entity._ I don't expect her to be fond of me right away."

"I know you don't," she replies, her voice barely audible as she squeezes the blanket on her lap. "But … Charlie, what if you hate her?"

His eyes open wide in shock.

"Elsie, I'm not going to hate her."

"You don't know that."

The faint whisper nearly breaks his heart. He reaches over to cup her cheek and force her to look him in the eyes.

"I _do_ know that," he insists. "You've prepared me for what to expect, and I love her already. Elsie, she's the only other family you have left. She sounds like a very sweet woman, she's fond of art and kittens and the sea, and she's _yours._ Besides, I was an only child. I spent many years praying for a younger sibling that never came. How could I not love her?"

"She'll quite possibly want me all to herself," Elsie tells him. "I should have mentioned that, I think. You see, when we get together, we always spend time just the two of us - a couple of hours cuddled up, sharing stories from when we were wee lasses on the farm."

"Did you notice that I packed _three_ books for this trip? Elsie, you've not seen Becky in years, and I would hope that you'd have some special time for just the two of you. I'd have insisted on it, in fact. I'm prepared to sit alone somewhere and read for hours on end, I assure you."

He reaches his arm over her shoulders and pulls her close, her head coming to rest on his chest.

"Now, is there anything else that's bothering that beautiful, sharp mind of yours, love?"

A smile plays about her lips. "That I'm keeping you up with this nonsense."

"None of that, thank you. Do you feel better?"

She nods and reaches across his torso to give him a squeeze.

"Good. Finish your wine and then we'll have a little cuddle, alright?"

"Alright."

He hands her glass to her and they sit quietly, him reading and her putting things to rights in her mind so that she can sleep.

Elsie rinses the glasses when she goes to brush her teeth, and when she catches her reflection in the mirror as she plaits her hair, she smiles softly … so very, very grateful for the tall man with the booming voice in the next room.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

 ** _The next morning ..._**

"Elsie!"

Charles watches as a short, stout ball of energy with grey hair comes racing towards his wife. He reaches out to touch Elsie's back to support her, hoping to keep her from being knocked flat.

"Oh, _Becky!"_

Elsie wraps her arms around her sister, hugging her fiercely and laughing as Becky repeatedly kisses her cheeks.

"Let me kiss you back, love," she manages, placing some kisses safely on Becky's forehead and right cheek before holding her out at arm's length. "My, you _are_ a sight for sore eyes."

"I made you a picture," Becky says, and Charles watches as a younger woman approaches them and holds out a folded piece of paper to his wife.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," the woman says.

"It's good to see you, Lilah. But it's Mrs. _Carson_ now," Elsie says proudly, taking the paper from her hand.

Lilah looks to Charles. "And I presume you are _Mr._ Carson?"

Charles likes her instantly. "I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lilah." He holds out his hand and she shakes it firmly.

Becky is watching their exchange with fascination, clutching Elsie's hand tightly.

"Becky?" Elsie whispers into her sister's ear. "Would you like to meet our Charlie?"

Becky's eyes are wide, but she nods, her hold on Elsie's hand loosening a bit.

"Charlie," Elsie says slowly, "this is my beautiful Becky."

She watches as Charles bends down and smiles warmly. "Well, beautiful Becky, please believe me when I say that it is _truly_ a pleasure to finally meet you." His voice is soft and gentle, and Elsie feels Becky's hand relax even more.

Charles holds his own hand out for a handshake, his movements slow and measured, and Elsie wonders how she ever could have doubted him.

 _Always the smooth butler,_ she thinks. _He may crumble behind the scenes, but he's the perfect performer on any stage._

"Hello," Becky says, timidly reaching out her hand. "You're my new brother? Elsie told me in a letter. She sent me the picture."

Charles quirks an eyebrow. "And did you like it?"

"Yes, that's how I knew what to draw," Becky says, pointing at the paper in Elsie's hand.

Charles watches as Elsie unfolds it, and his breath catches in his throat; there, on the bright white page, is a beautifully illustrated replica of their wedding photo.

"Oh, yes, _that_ picture," he replied, having had no idea Elsie had even sent one. "Becky, this is remarkable," he praises her, completely in awe. "I've seen the drawings you've sent to Elsie, but this may be your best one ever."

"You showed him all of my pictures?" Becky asks, her brow furrowed as she stared at her sister. "But those were for _you,_ Elsie."

"Only the ones I framed, lass. Do you remember me telling you I'd hung some in our new cottage?" Elsie sees the storm brewing in Becky's eyes, and she silently wills Charles to go along with the fib.

"Oh. Alright, then," Becky replies, seemingly happy once again.

"Now, Becky dear, have you eaten?"

She nods. "Yes, we just finished our breakfast. Have you?"

"We have. What would you like to do?"

"Tell stories!" Becky shouts. "But, will Charlie join us?"

Elsie leans in close and murmurs, "Not if you don't want him to, darling. He doesn't want to interfere with our special time."

"But, Elsie," she replies, her brow scrunched as she thinks, "maybe he'd like to hear them?"

Elsie beams at her sister, catching Charles's eye over Becky's head. "He just might." She sees her husband's face light up with joy. "Why don't you ask him?"

Becky looks up at Charles and asks him politely to join them.

"Only if you want me to," he says softly.

Elsie watches as Becky slowly extends her hand to Charles, who takes it in his.

"Your hands are so big," she whispers, and Charles chuckles.

"They are," he agrees. "It was quite hard to learn to do magic with these mighty paws, I can tell you."

 _Oh, Charles Carson,_ Elsie thinks. _You brilliant, beautiful man._

"Magic?" It's barely a whisper, but Becky's eyes are brilliant with excitement. "Would you show me?"

"I think that can be arranged," he replies with a wink.

Becky turns and shoots a questioning glance back at Elsie.

"You go on ahead," Elsie says. "I'd like a word with Lilah, and then I'll join you. How does that sound?"

"Fine! Let's go, Charlie. We'll go to the common room, because we won't all fit in my room like when it's just me and Elsie."

Charles turns to raise his eyebrows at his wife, his silent communication that he's going to be quite alright, indeed.

Elsie turns and addresses Lilah. "How is she, really?" she asks once the pair is out of earshot.

"She's had a hard time of it, Mrs. H- Mrs. Carson," Lilah confides. "Her memory is failing, and she's frustrated by that. Of course, yesterday was a difficult day, but that was only because you were arriving and she couldn't manage all of the excitement she was feeling, so she was just all over the place all day."

"And has she been worried about Mr. Carson?" Elsie asks, voicing her deepest fear. "Has she been, well, angry that I've gotten married?"

Lilah's eyes grow wide. "Oh, no! Quite the contrary, Mrs. Carson: she's _thrilled_ to have a brother-in-law. She's not stopped talking about it ever since she got that photograph you sent. It's why she drew the picture; I suggested she might need something productive to help take care of all of her thoughts."

Elsie nods. "Good idea. And it's lovely - one of her best."

"Well, we can catch up later," Lilah tells her. "You're here through tomorrow evening?"

"Actually, we leave Sunday, but too early to be able to visit. We're staying at an inn two streets over from the windmill. We'll be here all day today, if that's alright, and maybe take her out for a bit, and then return for breakfast tomorrow and stay the day. We'll see if she's up for another afternoon out, but if not, we'll just spend time with her here. I know it's not much, not after all this time, but it's all we could manage."

"It's perfect. If you'll permit me, given the novelty of your new husband, I think two days will be just fine. Are you planning to come during the summer season as well?"

"I believe so, yes. It depends on a few factors, but we should be able to do that."

"I see. Good. We'll speak some more later, and I know you'll want some time to check in with the doctor."

Elsie nodded.

"Enjoy your visit, Mrs. Carson. Now, go catch up with your family." She smiles and tilts her head toward the corridor down which Becky and Charles had disappeared earlier.

"I shall. Thank you, Lilah."

Lilah smiles warmly. "You're more than welcome."

Elsie watches her leave, and then hurries down the corridor toward the common room, quite anxious to see what sort of magic her amazing husband is performing for his new sister.

* * *

 **Up next will be the rest of the visit with Becky. Reviews loved and appreciated! :) xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Another longer installment, with quite a bit of inspiration from Mr. Carter himself and a WandAid performance I was lucky enough to attend. Enjoy!**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _Lytham Saint Annes_

The sounds of gleeful laughter and one small scream of delight greet Elsie as she turns the corner of the common room. She stops short just inside the doorway, simply stunned by the scene before her eyes.

A group of six women are squished into two settees, and one more sits on the floor. From where she stands Elsie has a perfect side view of her husband, but his attentions are focused elsewhere and she knows he hasn't noticed her arrival. She spies a small puddle of water on the floor, takes a deep breath, and looks directly at Charles, who stands before the women with a sheepish grin upon his face and a blush upon his cheeks.

In Charles's hand is some type of apparatus that Elsie's never seen before. It looks like a child's swing, but smaller - the "seat" being about the size his hand - and he's holding it by the attached strings. In his other hand, he's holding an empty cup. As she exhales, she figures out precisely what has occurred … although she cannot for the life of her figure out where any of the items in his hands _came_ from in the first place.

"That was _not_ supposed to happen," Charles is muttering. But Elsie sees a glint of mischief in his eyes, something which is not lost on his audience, either.

"Oh, please try it again!" Becky shouts, and her nearest companions echo her request.

Elsie sees Charles set the cup aside and hold up his hand to quiet them, and she folds her arms across her chest and leans against the inside of the doorway, not wanting to intrude on what is clearly a performance of the grandest standards. Just then, Becky spots her, but she puts a finger to her lips to indicate that Becky should - for now - not let Charles know she's standing there.

As the talking dies down, Charles's voice sounds throughout the room.

"I don't think that would be wise," he tells them, and one of the women is now standing with a small towel in her hand.

"Shall I clean that up for you?" she asks timidly.

"Thank you, Agnes, that would be very much appreciated," Charles tells her kindly, and the woman quickly takes care of the mess before returning to her seat; meanwhile, Charles deposits the swing-like item on a nearby table.

"Now, for this next trick, I believe we need …" He reaches into his pocket and withdraws something. " … a deck of cards."

The women's eyes widen as Charles slides the cards out of their box before laying the box on the table by the other items. He places the deck on the table and fans out the cards in perfect formation.

"If the beautiful Becky would care to choose a card?" he suggests, his eyebrows raised as he waves his arm toward the table with a magician's flourish.

Becky nods enthusiastically and jumps out of her seat to select a card. She starts to tell him which one she's selected, but Charles shushes her quickly with an exaggerated waving of his hands and his eyes clamped tightly shut.

"No, no; please don't show me or say even one word! It is for me to decipher with _magic_ which card you've chosen, my dear," he explains. "Show your friends here, and then please tuck the card back into the spread."

Becky does as he says, mimicking her sister's gesture from earlier of a finger to her lips (but this time accompanied by a rather loud "shhh" sound) instructing her friends not to divulge which card she's chosen.

"Alright," she says when the card is replaced.

Charles opens his eyes and gathers the cards, and his eyes search the group intently before settling upon the woman seated on the floor.

"Now … Carol, is it?" Charles asks.

"Yes." She smiles shyly.

"Alright, Carol. I'm going to toss these to you, and I'd like you to shuffle them and toss them back when you're finished."

She smiles tentatively, reaches out her hand, and nods.

Elsie watches as Charles grasps the deck by the tip of his fingers, flicks his wrist in a tossing motion, and somehow (Elsie's not quite sure _how,_ even though she was watching his movements intently) makes the deck "disappear" mid-toss even though his hand and arm follow through with the motions.

Charles watches the air where the cards _should_ have traveled, and he lands his gaze on Carol's outstretched hand.

"Perfect, Carol," Charles praises her, and Elsie marvels at how he deftly steers Carol through the next few steps. "I see they've landed right in your palm. Very nice catch, indeed, my dear. Now, if you would, please slide them out of the box and shuffle them, hm?"

Carol laughs tentatively but mimes the actions as requested, concentrating rather hard on what is clearly the _lack of cards_ in her hand.

"That's very nice," Charles encourages, and Carol's mouth quirks in a smile as the other women look on.

"For how long?" she asks.

"Give them another good shuffle or two and then toss them back," Charles instructs. "And _in_ the box, if you please," he adds with a wink, "or I'll have another mess on my hands."

Carol does as she's asked and motions tossing the deck back to Charles; he reaches up to catch it, his large hands clapping together in the air.

"Very good," he says, and when he separates his hands the original deck is there, sitting in his palm as though he just plucked it from the air.

Elsie scans the group - wide-eyed and practically vibrating with excitement and awe, and she marvels that one could hear a pin drop in the room, so intent are the women on seeing what will happen next.

" -right," Charles is saying. "One more shuffle." He slides the cards out and shuffles the deck before putting the cards in one hand, cupping and bending them slightly, and then cascading them into his other hand and catching them; a chorus of _ooohs_ and _aaahs_ ripples throughout the common room.

"And _now,_ let's find the beautiful Becky's card."

He fans the cards out on the table again and ponders them for a moment, his fingertip pressed against his lips and his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"I think … perhaps …" He reaches a finger slowly toward the pile, searching …

" … _this_ one."

Elsie watches with rapt attention as Charles selects a card near one end of the fanned-out cards, pulling it out of the pile and turning it toward the crowd.

"The three of hearts?" he asks, and everyone's eyes grow wide, a collective gasp heard throughout the room.

Elsie is stunned. She lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, realizing only now that she'd been terrified that the trick would go poorly like the last one did. Her own eyes widen as Becky begins to nod slowly.

"How did you do that?" Becky whispers.

"That, my dear, is _magic,"_ Charles says with wink, and he takes a great bow as the sound of applause erupts in the room.

Elsie claps along with the others and Charles turns abruptly toward where she stands, aware for the first time that she's been in the doorway for at least part of his performance. She tilts her head toward him in greeting and smiles as he stands a bit taller, a bit prouder, clearly thrilled in the knowledge that he's not only impressed the residents of the home, but his wife as well.

Elsie bites down on her lip in amusement and winks at him, a promise of things to come in thanks for his efforts.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

The rest of the day is spent just the three of them. Becky refuses to let Charles sit alone and read, insisting that he join her and Elsie for the entire afternoon instead. However, rather than sitting cuddled up on a sofa or a bed, the threesome are bundling up to head out for a walk to the seashore.

"Here, love," Elsie says, pulling a new scarf from her bag and handing it to Becky. "I've made this for you."

Charles had no idea Elsie had made Becky a scarf, and his surprise is doubled when she reaches into the bag once again and hands _him_ one, too.

"What's this?" he asks quietly. "When …?"

"Never you mind, Charlie," she murmurs, brushing her finger over his lips to shush him. "Perhaps that's _my_ magic, hm?" She winks at him again, and he chuckles.

"Can we get a biscuit at the shoppe by the church?" Becky asks, and Elsie laughs at the look on her husband's face. "Please?"

"Oh, Becky darling, I think you've just made Charlie your new best friend!"

Becky reaches out and clasps Charles's hand with one of hers and Elsie's with her other.

"Then let's go!"

The walk through the small town is filled with happy chatter between them all. Becky finds herself invigorated by being with her sister and Charlie, and Elsie feels a freedom she's not had in a good, long while. Charles laughs as Becky and Elsie share funny stories of caring for the animals on the farm, stories that paint images in his mind of his wife tumbling in the mud and of Becky being nuzzled by a newborn calf. He learns more about Elsie's parents and about the simple life they'd all had, and his heart swells as he thinks of how this loving upbringing is, in part, what shaped her into the woman he's so proud to call his wife.

Late afternoon finds them standing on the beach. Elsie has stopped a bit back from the waves, watching as Becky moves a much closer to the water's edge in search of a perfectly white seashell, and she feels her husband comes up behind her and wrap her in his arms.

"Our wedding day aside, I do believe this may be the best day of my adult life," he murmurs, and he squeezes Elsie tightly as her arms come up to hug his.

"Truly? You've had quite a few days, love," she teases. But she feels him nod, his chin coming to rest atop hers. She knows that he'd never be so bold if others had been on the beach, but the wind and mid-day hour seem to have kept the rest of the town busy and away; she leans back into him, completely content.

"Truly," he confirms. "I don't think I could possibly adore Becky more. She's her own person, but I see so much of _you_ in her. You have the same eyes, the same laugh, and the same furrow to your brow when you're concentrating on something."

"I'm not sure I ever notice those things about her anymore. Well, the eyes, yes … like our Da had," she whispers.

"Charlie! Look!"

Becky's shout sounds out over the sand, and Elsie shakes with laughter at her sister's exuberance.

"Oh, my," she says gleefully. "I see how it is. It's all _Charlie_ now!"

"I'm just the novelty," he says. "You know that."

"Well, I prefer to think of it as Becky having _two_ siblings that she will love equally."

She moves out of his grasp and turns to place a kiss to his cheek.

"And _I_ love this Charlie, too," she tells him quickly as she pats his chest, well aware that Becky is waiting very patiently for her to let him go. "The one that only _we_ ever get to see."

"Well," he says, kissing her quickly on the tip of the nose, "let's hope you get to see him a bit more frequently, then."

He walks briskly to where Becky is standing, and Elsie watches as he bends forward and examines the shell in Becky's hand. She cannot hear their words nor offer any of her own, but the feeling she has as Becky wraps Charles tightly in a hug which he enthusiastically returns is worth more to her than words could ever say.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Charles closes the door to their hotel room with a deep sigh. He turns and leans his back against it and pulls off his gloves ... and looks up to see his wife approaching him with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"I know that look," he manages to get out before Elsie grasps his head and pulls it down, capturing his lips in a kiss - one which grows rather heated despite the coldness on their faces from the walk back from Becky's home.

She breaks away and her lips move down his jawline and neck. "I'm sure you do," she whispers, her fingers already unbuttoning his coat.

There's a brief period of rustling as coats are removed, and Charles folds them over the back of a chair before returning to his wife. He shudders as she pulls his shirt out of his pants and slides her cold fingers up his sides, but before she can manage to remove his belt, he turns her around and begins unbuttoning the back of her dress.

Elsie feels her face grow hot as he trails kisses down her spine, following the path of his fingers. She holds herself up - barely - by pressing her hands against the door, and she manages to gasp one word before she completely loses her senses.

"Bed."

He turns her again and grabs the neckline of her dress, pulling the fabric gently and sliding it off her arms, thereby enabling her to push it the rest of the way down and step out of it. She picks the dress up quickly and tosses it atop their coats.

Charles's eyes darken as they travel up and down his wife's body. "Now, if I were a gentleman …"

She smirks at him. "But you're _not,_ remember?"

He reaches for her hips and pulls her flush against his body. "Fortunately," he gasps as they move closer to their destination, stopping to steal kisses along the way.

She somehow manages to help him shed most of his clothing; he kicks off his shoes and tumbles onto the mattress with her, her light giggles eliciting a playful growl from him as her hands caress the sides of his face.

"I love you, Charlie," she whispers, capturing his lips in yet another kiss.

"How much?" he asks, smirking.

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Well, how about if I try and show you?"

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie tiptoes back to the bed in an attempt to keep Charles from waking, but the loud creak of the frame when she climbs back in wakes him anyhow.

"Elsie? What time is it?" he mumbles, reaching for her.

"Late," she replies, tucking her body into his embrace.

"Have you slept yet?"

She smiles, placing a kiss to his bare chest. "A bit. It was quite a day."

"And night," he reminds her with a playful squeeze to her bottom.

"And night, yes," she agrees. "You were remarkable at Becky's home today, love. I think the very _last_ thing I expected on this trip was to see you as the old Cheerful Charlie, performing for a new crowd. I feel like I've had a glimpse into the life you used to lead. It was _wonderful."_

"It was infinitely better this time around," he confides. "Believe me."

She remembers something then and chuckles. "Wherever did you get the items you were using?"

"Elsie," he chides playfully, "surely you're not asking the magician to divulge his secrets? I'm appalled!"

"Oh, stop," she laughs, swatting at his arm.

"Well, then, that's settled," he declares.

They're quiet for a minute, and then Elsie sighs deeply. "Becky adores you, you know. I think this was the best day _she_ has had in ages, too."

"I meant it when I said that, you know. Aside from our wedding day, which nothing could ever top in my wildest imagination, today was most amazing."

"Even better than days spent meeting princes and lords and marquesses?" she teases.

He's quiet for a moment, but she's patient, allowing him to collect his thoughts.

"Do you know what I realized today, Elsie? I don't think I'm that man anymore."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean … _the job._ I always felt that being a butler was all I was meant to be. But I don't think it was the job itself that defined what I enjoyed."

"Of course it wasn't, Charlie. You were the best at your job because you're meticulous and precise, but I've always thought it appealed to you because it allowed you to care for the family in a way that no one else really could. You love them all; there's no question in my mind. And I know more than anyone on earth that when Charles Carson loves someone, well …" She props herself up on her elbow and smiles at him, reaching out to brush a lock of hair off of his forehead. "It makes that someone a _very_ lucky person, indeed."

She leans down and kisses his brow before settling into his embrace once again.

"Thank you for that," he whispers.

"Charlie?"

"Mmm?"

"I'd like to come back at Christmas. Do you think we could manage it?"

"I'm not sure," he says hesitantly. "I suppose the family will go to Brancaster."

"Yes, I expect so."

He moves a bit and rests his head on hers. "What's niggling at you, Elsie?"

"It's this weekend, Charlie. Being able to spend time with Becky. It had been _so_ long since I'd seen her that it was like a physical ache; I didn't even realize how much it hurt until it was gone."

"Well, perhaps we can work something out. You could save up your days off, maybe put a couple of them together around the holiday? I'm sure Miss Baxter could take care of your duties, especially if the family are away."

She twirls her fingers through the silver hair on his chest.

"Or …" She draws her lip underneath her teeth, so afraid of even speaking the words aloud.

"Or?" His heart flutters in his chest. He doesn't dare hope, but …

She tucks herself in impossibly closer, wrapping her arm tight around his body and allowing the sound of his heartbeat to soothe her.

"I don't think that 'the job,' as you put it, is all that _I_ am anymore, either."

His face erupts into a brilliant smile, one that she cannot see from where she's tucked against his body but which she hears in his voice when he speaks.

"Are you certain?"

She shifts a bit so that she can look into his eyes, and she nods. "I am. I want more days like this - days with _you,_ and time to visit Becky. Charles … I want to _retire."_

* * *

 **And now the end game of this fic is in sight. A wee review would be lovely! Many thanks to you for reading. x**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: In which we leave Lytham Saint Annes and head back home. One more regular chapter after this one and then a "Christmas special" in December.**

 **Thanks to all for reading and reviewing my #unofficialDAs7 fic! Your reviews have made me smile.**

 **This chapter is rated a strong "T" for ... Touching.**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

With all the detail-sorting of the trip and Becky's first meeting with Charles over and done with, added to a few days' vacation and de-stressing, Elsie sleeps more soundly than she has in weeks.

As morning slowly rolls in, she turns toward where Charles is sleeping and wraps her arm around him, placing several kisses to his back and shoulders in an attempt to wake him up.

He groans sleepily, then playfully, and reaches his arm behind him; his hand lands on the back of her thigh and she smiles against his skin, blessedly content even though they're leaving to go home in a few short hours.

"Good morning," she murmurs.

"Mm. S'early."

She props herself up on her elbow as her free hand roams his body. "It is," she agrees with a kiss to the back of his neck.

Charles's voice is still groggy and thick from sleep. "And I gather there's something you want?"

She's moved down a bit and hums against his skin. "Perhaps."

He feels the breath of the word on his shoulder blade; for some reason, the intimacy of that one small detail strikes him. He shakes his head a bit to more fully wake up while he kneads his fingertips a bit more deeply into the flesh of her leg, pulling her closer still.

"I was rather selfish last night," Charles mumbles. "I'm sorry about that."

Her responding chuckle and the series of kisses she places to his back are distracting him. He thinks it's perhaps the best way to be woken in the morning.

"I wouldn't say that, Charlie. Besides, it was _my_ idea," she reminds him.

"Still, it wasn't my intention to fall asleep so soon."

"You didn't hear me complaining about anything, did you?"

"No," he remembers, blushing, "I didn't. I must say, Elsie ... in all those times I imagined what we might get up to in our marital bed, _that_ was one thing that _never_ made the list."

"And I didn't hear _you_ complaining either, dear," she coos, trailing her fingers up and down his hip.

"Erm, no. You didn't."

She sighs happily, then lets out a giggle. "The buttoned-up, stern, dragon of a housekeeper and the strong, deep-voiced, steady butler … Whatever would people say if they knew?"

He hears the happiness and contentment in her voice, and it reminds him that she's going to _retire_. Finally relinquishing his hold on her leg, he feels her move away, backing up a bit to enable him to roll over and face her.

"They'd never believe it," he replies, caressing her cheek. "So it's a good thing these _activities_ of ours are a secret. Well ... _that_ one, anyhow."

"Oh, my. Look at _you,_ Charlie." Her voice is almost purring and she bites down seductively on the corner of her lip, her hands brushing over his broad chest as she curls a leg up and over his, her toe trailing over his calf. "Looking rather ... mussed." Her hands travel up the back of his neck and into this hair, fluffing it even more as she tugs it a bit.

"Witch," Charles whispers. "Are we in a bit of a rush this morning, Mrs. Carson?"

"We are. Come here, my lovely man …"

He quirks an eyebrow at his wife and her eyes light up as he lifts his body over hers, putting most of his weight on his left side as he tests out how his right hand and arm will respond to bearing his weight so soon after waking.

She watches him as he moves, attuned to his concentration and his careful movements.

"Is it alright?" she asks quietly.

"Seems to be," he replies, smiling and dipping his head for a kiss. "I think I rather like having you away from work for a few days," he tells her, gasping as she reaches for him and caresses him softly. "Ah … oh, my."

"I wonder ... how will I manage with retirement?" she whispers, her touch feather-light and driving him nearly mad. "I don't do well with being idle."

He shifts and she follows suit, cradling him between her legs. "You've never been idle in your life," he reminds her.

Reaching her hands around the small of his back she pulls him closer, insistent, and captures his gaze with hers as his hand flutters over her arm, neck, shoulder, and across her chest.

"And I don't mean to start. I guess you'll just have to keep me _occupied,_ my dear."

"Elsie," he whispers, and he hears her murmur his name (and something else that he can't quite make out) in reply as she reaches down to guide him.

They move together slowly, almost silently, each movement drawn out and lingering, grabbing hold of just a bit more magic on this brief time away. Their eyes are locked on one another's the entire time, neither feeling the need to say another word.

Just as he's about to lose complete control, Elsie reaches out to grasp his face and pull him down for a passionate kiss, the touch of her tongue against his tipping them both over the edge.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"I think that's it," Charles says as he clasps the buckle of his suitcase. "Can I help you with anything, love?"

"No, I believe I'm all set," Elsie's voice sounds from the en suite.

She comes back into the bedroom just as she's fixing the last pin in her hair.

"Beautiful," Charles whispers, reaching to place his hands on her hips and drop a kiss to her forehead.

"That's my heightened color you're noticing," she says with a smile. "I believe _you're_ responsible for that."

"If I remember correctly, it was _your_ idea."

"And you're welcome," she replies cheekily, pinching his bottom as she walks over to the wardrobe. "You're responsible for the mark on my shoulder, too, by the way."

He watches her as she finishes packing: efficient movements, no wasted energy, and he wonders briefly how she _will_ manage in retirement. He understands her point all too well; serving the family is not for them anymore, not who they _are_ anymore, as they'd discussed last night. But he knows how hard it can be having hours upon hours in the cottage with nothing much to do. The place is never untidy and yet he often finds himself rearranging and straightening things just to pass the time. He's joined the library board, but that's only a once-per-month commitment. Sitting and reading for hours on end is lovely once in a while, but he needs a hobby and knows she will, too.

 _Besides_ _ **that.**_

"All done."

Charles checks the time. "Perfect. We can leave our bags with the reception desk until we return from Becky's place, and then we should have plenty of time to make it to the station."

He opens his arms and Elsie moves into his loving embrace.

"Shall we broach the subject of Christmas?" he asks, and she nods.

"I think so. It'll give her something to look forward to. Are you _sure_ it will be alright?"

They discuss finances more frequently now, but while Elsie's become a little more comfortable about their situation, she's not entirely at ease with Charles footing the bill for everything they do. Still, he's told her it's likely that she'll have a financial gift of sorts from the Granthams (given that they certainly have no need to present her with a cottage on the estate), and she knows that if she and Charles can invest _that_ with the bank then she'll feel better about it all.

"I'm positive. It's not a terribly expensive train fare and we'll be able to stay here overnight, I think. That is, if you'd like to?"

"I would. This is such a gem of a place, Charlie."

 _"And_ it's spotless," he teases, and she laughs. He knows his wife only too well, but she knows he appreciates those things as well.

"And there's that, yes."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"Hello, Elsie!"

Charles chuckles as Becky once again races toward her sister and embraces her fiercely.

"Not all 'Charlie' this and 'Charlie' that, then," he mutters, happy for that to be the case. He adores Becky, but it's Elsie who's loved her for a lifetime.

He holds back and waits his turn, and sure enough Becky greets him with his own hug, albeit a slightly less exuberant one.

"We've a surprise for you," Elsie says softly, leading Becky to the small settee in the corner of the sitting room.

"Oooh!" Becky claps her hands and then sits dutifully beside Elsie, who takes her hands and squeezes them gently.

"Becky, love, I'm going to retire. Do you know what that means?"

Becky shakes her head, her brow a bit furrowed. "No."

"Well," Elsie begins, catching Charles's eye and motioning with her head to the chair beside her, where he promptly sits, "it means that I won't be working anymore. I won't need to, you see."

"Oh."

Elsie meets her husband's gaze quickly and then turns her attention back to Becky. Charles is antsy, his nerves about Becky's reaction and his constant attention to the time of day distracting his wife as well.

"Becky, what would you say if Charlie and I came to visit you at the Christmas holiday? Would you like that?"

Becky's eyes widen, and she nods slowly as her face breaks out in a grin. "Do you mean it?"

"I do, dear." Elsie pats Becky's hand in measured, steady strokes, and she's surprised to see a few age spots where Becky had previously had none … a reminder that time is moving on, indeed.

"And Charlie?"

"And me," Charles says, his rumbling voice resonating somewhere deep within his wife's heart. "If you'll have me."

Becky nods slowly. "Of course, Charlie. You're our family now."

He reaches out and lays one of his hands over theirs, clasping them all in his currently-steady grasp.

* * *

 **I'd love a review if you're so inclined! Thanks - hope you've enjoyed it. x**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Um, so … I can't count. I was thinking a regular "series" of nine chapters/episodes and a Christmas Special – and I like the idea of ten total chapters. So, this is the last of the regular series, and then the CS will be out at Christmas as usual.**

 **Thanks to all of you for your thoughtful and sweet reviews. I've appreciated each and every one. And a HUGE thanks to chelsie fan for orchestrating this entire #unofficialdas7 thing. :)**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

The teaspoon rattles on the saucer, the sound it makes echoing in the otherwise quiet cottage.

 _Nerves,_ Elsie thinks as she lets the handle go. _It's just nerves._ She jumps when Charles reaches across to where she sits and rests his hand atop hers, stilling the shaking.

Charles thinks that he's grateful they've moved away from the habit of each sitting at opposite ends of the long table, preferring instead to sit at the corner as they'd always done at work. It's more intimate – a bump of the knee, a brush of the hand … a comforting touch when one is needed.

"It'll be alright," he says reassuringly.

She looks up and sees all the kindness in his eyes.

"It will," she agrees, swallowing with some difficulty. "It will just be a very, _very_ long day."

Charles takes a deep breath, pondering his reply. He's had it all swimming around in his head for days, and he'd anticipated her nerves and uncertainties this morning - he'd felt them all himself only too recently with his own retirement.

"You're going to feel there's not enough time in this day, I think," he muses. "Not enough time to tidy, to gather your things; not enough time to say goodbye to foolish things, like rooms and furniture … and decidedly _not_ foolish things, like people," he tells her. "But you'll be back. Mrs. Baxter will have you for tea, and I've no doubt that a retirement party for Mrs. Patmore won't be too terribly far off, either."

She nods, knowing he's right. She and the cook have spoken about that very thing _three_ times since the day Elsie had adamantly refused a retirement party of her own. Mr. Mason visits every other day now, and Elsie knows that her husband speaks the truth: before London sees another Season, Beryl Patmore will likely be a married, retired woman herself.

"I know," she sighs, standing and gathering their empty dishes. She fills the sink with soap and water, staring at (but not really focused on) the rising suds.

Charles moves up behind her and lays his hands gently upon her waist, placing a kiss to the back of her head, careful not to muss the perfect, intricate braiding as he reaches around her and turns off the faucet.

"I love you," he says simply, the rumble of his words tickling her back.

"I know you do," she whispers, not turning to face him. She knows she cannot, not if she's to keep her wits about her. She's got about twelve more hours of being Mrs. Hughes, Housekeeper of Downton Abbey, and the façade cannot crack until she's passed through that servants' door for the last time. They both know that when she does, Charles will be waiting to walk her home, and to help her pick up whatever pieces may fall.

 _Home. Where I'll finally be able to spend each and every day as just Elsie Carson, the woman who is so very blessed with her husband's love._

After a moment, she nods.

"I love you, too."

Charles squeezes her hips gently and then goes to the entryway to retrieve her coat, allowing her a moment to gather her emotions before her last walk to the Abbey as Mrs. Hughes.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

In the end, Lady Grantham decides to send the Carsons home in the family's car. Charles had protested, but Lady Grantham had calmed him by clarifying that she'd not force them to exit through the Abbey's _front_ door.

"But you've too many things to carry, and I refuse to ask either of you to struggle as you make your way home," she tells them, and she gives Elsie's hand an encouraging squeeze. "Your husband should be holding your hand tonight, I think, instead of carrying a box."

Elsie sees the shimmer in Lady Grantham's eyes and squeezes back with a firm, decisive nod. It's a deluge of emotion contained in a single gesture - one between two women who refuse to allow themselves to buckle under the weight of it.

"Don't be a stranger," Lady Grantham adds. "I fully expect to see you when you're at the Abbey, even if just for a quick cup of tea. And don't you think I won't know if you're about, either. Mrs. Baxter already has instructions to inform me of your visits."

"It would be my pleasure, Milady," Elsie replies, and she's a bit surprised to find that she truly means it.

Lady Grantham turns to Charles and smiles.

"Congratulations to you, too, Carson," she says to him. "I do believe that tomorrow will be _your_ first real day of retirement. You both have our best wishes."

He nods graciously and thanks her before picking up the largest of Elsie's packages and heading out to the car; Elsie takes up the smaller package and trails behind him, turning in the doorway to give one final glance over the servants' hall and seeing the fabric of Lady Grantham's dress disappearing down the corridor.

"It's so empty," she murmurs.

"You didn't want them here," Charles reminds her. "I think they're all upstairs hiding."

She huffs out a small chuckle. "I know," she replies, turning to him. "Let's get 'round to that car. Let's go _home,_ Charlie."

They turn and make their way out the door, neither noticing a rather emotional cook watching after them, giving a small, sad wave of her hand.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie is quiet for the ride home, and Charles lets her be, holding her hand between both of his his and gently rubbing the back of hers with his thumb.

He'd left something in the oven for dinner and the delicious smell greets them as soon as he opens the cottage door. She thanks him quietly as they carry her things to their shared study, where she'll sort through them all in the morning.

She plates the food while Charles sets the table and they eat in relative silence, save for some small talk here and there about the meal itself. Charles jokes that it's one of his best meals in recent history, and she smiles and laughs along with him; he is quite good at cooking the evening meals, she reminds him - better than she is, at any rate.

As she washes up, Charles pours the wine that he'd opened and set aside earlier. Elsie glances over at it, not recognizing the bottle.

"That one looks new," she says with trepidation.

"It is," he replies proudly. "Well, perhaps _'new'_ isn't the right word. But it _is_ the wine I chose a while back for this very evening."

She dries her hands and he passes her a glass.

"To us," he toasts. "And a lifetime full of wonderful moments together, both big and small."

With a smile and a tilt of her head, she touches her glass to his and they drink.

"Charles," she marvels, "this is magnificent!"

"Thank you." He puts his hand at the small of her back and gently guides her into the parlour, where he's gotten the fire going perfectly and where, she sees for the first time, he's set out a few biscuits. "I've had that in reserve for about thirty years," he adds nonchalantly.

Elsie whips her head around to face him, stunned. "For _how_ long? But … Charles, that can't be right."

"O-ho!" he laughs, his eyebrows raised with merriment. "And do you think I've become addled in my knowledge of our wine cellar, Mrs. Carson?"

"Well, no, not precisely," she tells him, biting down on her lip in confusion. "But you said you'd set that bottle aside for today. How could you have known thirty years ago that we'd be toasting my retirement _today ..._ and _together?"_

"I didn't," Charles admits, and he takes her hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses her knuckles. "But I always hoped."

"You … hoped," she whispers. "Oh, Charles. Sometimes, you truly amaze me."

Charles hears her voice crack and, with it, sees the wall she'd put around her emotions this morning come crumbling down at last. He whisks her glass out of her hand and places it on the side table alongside his own before drawing her into his arms as she silently weeps for everything she's been holding in for days, weeks … perhaps longer. He feels a fool now; she'd done such a marvelous job of seeing him through his own premature retirement, but it hadn't occurred to him how difficult it must have been for _her_ to hold not only him but also everything at the Abbey together.

"I'm so proud of you, Elsie," he whispers into her hair, squeezing her tighter and rubbing a steady hand up and down her back. "A wonderful career that spanned decades, the very best of the best at what you did, and all the while caring for everyone in that house both upstairs and down - _and_ for Becky as well."

The mention of Becky's name caused a small cry to erupt from his wife, but he soldiered on.

"And while I may not have thought we had any sort of _romantic_ future thirty years ago, I had hoped at the very least that I'd be gifting you with this wine upon your retirement - it was bottled the year you became Housekeeper, you see. It's an added bonus that I may share it with you as we _both_ look forward to whatever time remains to us."

He senses her body becoming calm, hears her snuffles and cries weaken and eventually disappear. When she starts to move away from him, he drops his hands back to her hips as she faces him, her eyes red and swollen and her cheeks wet despite all attempts by her to wipe them dry with her fingertips.

"Elsie," he murmurs, lifting one hand - now trembling slightly - to cup her cheek.

She leans into it and turns her head slightly to kiss the edge of his palm.

"Thank you, love," she whispers. "I'm so sorry about that."

"I'm not," he answers, looking deep into her eyes. "You needed a good cry. I'd wager that a good deal more than just today's stress was released with that."

Elsie nods. "Yes, I imagine so." Lifting her hand to his, she squeezes his fingers softly, feeling the tremble disappear once again as if she'd brushed it away with her touch.

"I believe my husband set out some biscuits, along with a blanket underneath which we're meant to have a cuddle?" she asks, smirking.

"He did," Charles confirms.

They bring their wine to the settee and Charles positions himself in the corner, his body turned slightly so that Elsie has room to tuck herself underneath his arm and rest her feet on the seat. She pulls the blanket over her legs and leans into her husband, feeling his love encompass her once again as they quietly watch the fire and share their wishes for what retirement will bring.

"Christmas," she said suddenly.

"What about it?"

"I'd like to perhaps have Becky _here,_ if she's well enough. Would you mind?"

"Mind? Oh, Elsie, I think it's a marvelous idea!"

 _ **TBC ... at Christmas!**_


	10. The Christmas Special

**A/N: A few weeks ago, someone suggested to me that Elsie might receive a certain gift from her husband. I wish I could remember who that was, but I thank her nonetheless. It's a lovely idea and totally feasible for the later 1920s, and shows up at the end of this story.**

 **Mad props to Chelsie fan for suggesting this "unofficialDAs7" prompt on tumblr. It's been a joy to write (and read) for it. :) And I'm aware that many of us have chosen to use** _ **A Visit from St. Nick**_ **in our writing this year, but it's truly a classic. I hope my formatting isn't confusing – I had it in verses, and then italics, and it was just a mess. I trust you've all listened to Big Jim read it a million and one times, anyhow.**

 **From my home to yours, best wishes for a blessed and joyful Christmas season.**

 **xxx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **Christmas Eve**_

"I can't believe she's really here, Charlie."

Elsie smiles as she peers into their guest room and snuggles into her husband's side. He puts his arm around her waist and draws her close, tipping his head sideways so that it rests atop hers.

Becky is in the guest room, completely unaware of their presence as they stand just outside the cracked-open door. She's humming an off-key Christmas carol as she hurriedly digs through the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Charles and Elsie had picked Becky up in Lytham St. Annes two days ago, and she's staying through Boxing Day and returning the day after. It's the first time Elsie has _ever_ been able to have Becky visit for the holidays, due to both the strict hours of her job and the simple fact that she's never had a home of her own where she could welcome a guest. She was a bit worried about how it would all go despite reassurances from both Becky's carer and Charles that it would be a very, very good experience for them all; so far, though, everything has been wonderful.

Becky's arrival had thankfully been uneventful. There'd been a feeling of snow in the air that had held off, making for a pleasant train ride. When they'd arrived at the cottage, they'd discovered a basket left there by Mrs. Patmore, containing a variety of Christmas treats and dinner items designed to facilitate the rest of their evening. Along with the food items had been a note stating that the cook hoped to be able to visit and make Becky's acquaintance. That visit happened earlier today, when Mrs. Patmore came down to the Carsons' cottage for luncheon. As Elsie had hoped (and as Charles had predicted), Mrs. Patmore and Becky got on famously.

On her way out the door, Mrs. Patmore reached out and clasped Elsie's hand.

"I've never told a soul," she whispered tearfully, "but I had a cousin when I was a young girl, one who was remarkably like Becky. Thank you for inviting me - for _trusting_ me - to come and meet her. It's been like reliving a wonderful part of my past."

Elsie just looked into her friend's eyes and nodded, her eyes expressing everything that she was afraid to say aloud: gratitude for a common ground, for kindness in the face of a challenge, and for a friendship instantly made stronger by this new level of mutual understanding.

And now, as Elsie leans into her husband's embrace, she watches as he reaches a trembling hand forward and closes the door silently; Becky had withdrawn something from the drawer that looked remarkably like gift wrapping, and he fears that if they continue to peek in, they'll ruin a wonderful surprise.

"Let's go and make some cocoa," he says quietly, and Elsie shudders happily as his breath is warm on her ear.

"And then, it's story time," she replies with a smile.

His own brilliant, broad smile is so boyish that it takes her breath away - yet another glimpse of the happy lad her husband must have been when he was younger.

"Indeed."

 **HoHoHoHoHoHo**

"Story time, Elsie! Come and sit with me!"

Becky's room overlooks the garden, and while Elsie had feared the bed's proximity to the window would be too drafty, Becky assured her after the first night that it was fine. Elsie hangs her robe on the bedpost atop Becky's and climbs underneath the quilts, noting that it does, indeed, seem warm enough; Charles takes up residence at the foot of the bed, tweaking Becky's toe through the blanket and making her laugh delightedly.

"Don't spill the cocoa," Elsie warns, and Becky quickly lays her hand over the mug.

"I won't." She waits until Charles is settled, and then takes a huge drink.

"Alright, I'm ready."

"Then here we go," Charles announces, cracking open the book's lid and sending a smirk his wife's way.

 _Are **you** ready, Elsie? _ his expression asks.

 _I think so,_ her raised brow and smirk reply.

His voice sounds softly in the bedroom, and by the end of the first line, Becky is completely enthralled.

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring … except for a mouse -"

"Named Charlie!" Becky shouts, laughing.

Elsie giggles softly but quiets her sister; Charles, however, just sends Becky a conspiratorial wink.

"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. And Becky was nestled all snug in her bed, as visions of sugar plums … Wait, no."

"No?" Becky asks.

"No," Charles says. _"No one_ ever dreams of sugar plums. Why would you? Foolish, awful things ..." His voice trails off, and he winks at Elsie.

"Hmm," Elsie says to her sister, "what would your visions be of, petal?"

"KITTENS!" Becky shouts, and Charles and Elsie laugh delightedly.

"Perfect," Charles says. "As visions of _kittens_ danced in her head."

Becky nods enthusiastically, and Charles continues.

"And Elsie in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap when out in the garden there arose such a clatter! I sprang from my bed -"

And he did, jumping up so quickly that Elsie removed Becky's now-empty mug from her hand and placed it on the nightstand.

"- to see what was the matter!"

"Did you wake Elsie?" Becky asks.

"I did, as it happened," he chuckles.

"Let Charlie continue, dear," Elsie tells her. She squeezes her hand, and Becky nods excitedly.

"Away to the window I flew like a flash - tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash!"

Charles dashes around the bed and over to the window, reaching out -

"Charles Carson, don't you dare!" Elsie warns. "It's freezing outside!"

"Aww," Becky mutters, but she doesn't say anything else.

Charles continues. "The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow … Oh, wait, erm …"

He glances out the window.

"On the _grass,_ as we've no snow … Gave a lustre of midday to objects below."

"Like trees, and your table and chairs," Becky nods sagely, peering over Elsie's head and out the window. "Yes."

"When what to my wondering eyes did appear," Charles continues, reaching into his pocket of his dressing gown and withdrawing something, "but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer."

He holds his fist out toward Becky, who checks with Elsie; seeing her nod, Becky puts her hands out to catch whatever Charles is waiting to place in them.

Elsie chokes up, seeing how Becky _trusts_ Charles. She's not afraid of what he may have in his hand - not at all - but merely excited and interested. Elsie's not sure Charles has any idea of how significant that is, but she'll be sure to tell him after they've tucked themselves away for their 'long winter's nap.'

Charles opens his fist, and an ornament falls into Becky's palms: it is, of course, a miniature sleigh, with a team of reindeer harnessed to the front and a jolly St. Nick holding onto their reins.

"With a little old driver so lively and quick -"

"It must be Saint Nick!" Becky shouts, and Elsie and Charles laugh.

"You've stolen my line!" Charles exclaims, feigning a pout, but Becky laughs at him.

"Alright, let's hear the rest of the story or we'll never get to sleep," Elsie reminds them. "And then St. Nick won't be able to come at all."

Becky claps one hand over her mouth as she stares at the sleigh which rests in her other, and Charles makes it through a few more lines, until …

"... and called them by name. Becky?"

Her eyes open wider, and suddenly she's worried.

"I don't know them all," she whispers, but Elsie just draws her close and answers in a soothing voice.

"No matter; Charles can read them."

"Well, I know _some,"_ Becky said. "And perhaps we can give the others new names?

"Perfect," Elsie replies. "Which do you remember?"

"Dasher," Becky whispers, touching one of the tiny reindeer on the nose, "Dancer … Vixen?"

Becky misses it, but Charles winks at his wife, and a blush appears on her cheeks as she flicks her eyebrow up in reply.

"A fine job, Becky," Charles praises her. "So, what should this one's name be? She's looking rather cheeky."

"Mrs. Patmore," she says immediately.

"Very good," Elsie laughs. "Now, we've got four more," she adds, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hm."

"Spots," Becky pronounces, tapping the reindeer with the white-spotted hind quarters. "This one can be Donnie, this one Sarah … and this one," she finishes, petting its tiny head reverently with her fingertip, "is Elsie, because its fur is red."

"But my fur isn't red," Elsie teases.

"Oh, but it _was,"_ Becky says softly, reaching up to touch the greying hair over her sister's brow. "When we were lasses, remember? It was bright red when we were little."

Elsie reaches up and clasps her sister's hand. "Aye," she murmurs, "I do remember."

Charles smiles fondly at them and then raises a questioning eyebrow at Elsie; she sighs, rolls her eyes a bit, and nods exasperatedly because she knows what's coming.

"Alright, lass, up you go!" she says to her sister, and a bewildered Becky rises from the bed.

Charles points to the ornament clutched in Becky's hand. "They're going to need to fly," he tells Becky in a stage whisper, and she giggles and nods but still double-checks with Elsie.

Elsie motions a _Go ahead_ with her hand, thinking it'll be a miracle if Becky _ever_ gets to sleep tonight … but also knowing that she'd not trade this evening for anything in the world.

"I think this is how _parents_ feel on Christmas Eve," she mutters to Charles. She sees how his eyes are twinkling, and she adds, "Definitely fathers, anyhow."

Charles watches her purse her lips and he mocks her, sticking his own bottom lip out exaggeratedly until she laughs.

"They're ready!" Becky shouts, and Charles turns his attentions back to her and consults the book.

"To the top of the porch!"

Becky flies the ornament through the air and lands it on the bedpost.

"To the top of the wall!"

Becky runs to the wall and places the ornament as high as she can.

"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, all!"

Becky runs around the room full-tilt.

"As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky …"

Becky complies, continuing to fly her ornament around the bedroom as Charles reads. When they get to the housetop, however, she's back in bed, having led the sleigh team to the top of the little bureau in the room - right beside the miniature Christmas tree that Elsie had placed there for her only that morning.

"Elsie?" Charles hands the book to her with a smile, and she nods.

"And then, in a twinkling," she begins to read, "I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof."

Charles begins tapping his toe on the wooden floor as he walks over toward the fireplace.

"As I drew in my head, and was turning around," Elsie reads, motioning for Becky to turn her head slowly toward the chimney, "down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound!"

Becky turns again … and squeals. Somehow - and she cannot figure out _how_ \- Charlie has removed his dressing gown and is now decked out in his red pyjamas ... with Elsie's fluffy, white scarf draped over his body. The scarf is rather long, and he's got it over his face like a beard; the way it trails down his middle, it rather looks like he's dressed in a red suit with white trim over the buttons.

Charles waggles his eyebrows.

"He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, but his clothes _weren't_ tarnished with ashes nor soot," Elsie says.

"Because his wife would kill him," Charles adds, and Becky dissolves into fits of giggles.

"You've got that right, Mr. Carson," Elsie replies with a smile. "A bundle of toys he had flung on his back …"

"But he doesn't have -," Becky says, but Charles just pantomimes taking a large sack off of his back as Elsie reads. "Ohh."

"His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!"

As Elsie continues through the description, she and Becky both smile and giggle at Charles's overly-exaggerated acting out of the features: pinching his cheeks and nose to redden them, pursing his 'droll little mouth,' dragging the white "beard" across his chin, and rubbing his belly and laughing just like a proper, jolly Father Christmas.

"He spoke not a word, but when straight to his work and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk …"

Charles lays his finger on the side of his nose, and while he doesn't jump up the chimney like in the story, he does duck out of the room, returning almost immediately sans scarf, but with a small, wrapped package in his hand.

"Happy Christmas to all," Elsie finishes, "and to all a good night!"

Becky claps enthusiastically as Elsie sets the book aside and snuggles back up with her sister; Charles sits at the foot of the bed, presenting the box to Elsie.

"Happy Christmas, Elsie," Becky whispers, leaning over and laying her head on Elsie's shoulder as she hugs her around her middle.

"For me? I thought St. Nick would bring a gift for _you,_ my dear."

"That's just Charlie, silly, and he already did!" Becky smiles, pointing to the sleigh. "But I wanted to give you this, so I asked Charlie how we could surprise you, and he told me we could do it tonight. And there are _more_ presents that I've wrapped for tomorrow! Charlie promised to bring them down after."

Elsie examines the package, with its slightly-messy wrapping and poorly-tied bow.

"Charlie helped me a little," Becky whispers.

"I barely did anything," he says proudly. "Becky did it all; I just held my finger on the ribbon as I walked her through the bow."

"Over, under, around, and through!" Becky remembers.

"Exactly," Elsie whispers past the lump in her throat and sparing a loving glance for Charles.

She carefully slides the ribbon off and tears the paper off of the box. Opening the lid, Elsie discovers a photo frame, edged in silver and gold but mostly green in color; it's clear to her that Becky painted it herself, most assuredly a project that was done with the residents at her home.

"Becky, it's lovely," she tells her sister. "But which picture should we put in it?"

"We'll decide _that_ tomorrow," Charles tells her, getting up off of the bed. "Because now it's bedtime, or St. Nick really won't be coming at all."

"Right!" Becky shouts. "Kisses!"

Elsie and Charles both bend down to receive a gentle kiss on the cheek, and Elsie tucks her sister in tightly underneath the blankets, sitting beside her once again as Charles tucks two gifts under his arm.

Becky smiles as Elsie reaches and brushes the hair off of her forehead.

"I love you, Elsie," she whispers. "Thank you for letting me come here for Christmas."

"Thank _you_ for being willing to do so," Elsie replies, kissing her on the forehead. "I know it's different from being at home."

"It is," Becky agrees, "but it's very nice."

"And I love you, too. Now sleep, dream marvelous dreams, and wake us in the morning when you get up."

"I will," she promises, and Elsie turns off the lamp as she leaves.

Charles reaches for her hand and closes the door halfway.

"I'll just nip downstairs with the gifts," he whispers, "and place them underneath the tree."

"You're marvelous, do you know that?" Elsie says, turning and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

" _She_ is marvelous," he replies. "Just like her sister."

"I hope _you_ can sleep," Elsie teases, running her fingertip down his jaw, "because I think you were more excited than she was!"

"Well," he sighs, drawing his arm around her as he makes his way to the top of the stairs, "I am a bit awake now that you mention it."

Elsie nibbles her lip and shakes her head with a smile as he waggles his eyebrows, his hands reaching out and brushing over her hips and bottom. "You're daft, Charlie. She's right across the hall! We can't," she whispers, but the desire is evident even in those hushed words.

"I can be extra quiet," he whispers in her ear. "It's _you_ I'd be worried about."

"Really? Well then, Mr. Carson, you take care of those gifts and I'll be sure the fire in the bedroom is nice and warm."

Her eyebrows are raised and as he leans over for a deep, meaningful kiss, he can't help but think that this just might be his best Christmas ever.

Charles tucks the gifts underneath the tree and settles the downstairs fires; returning upstairs, he's happy to find his wife sitting up in bed, reading as she waits for him to arrive.

"That's new," he remarks, pointing at her red nightgown.

"It's Christmas," she teases. "I felt it was festive. You do like it, don't you?"

"I do," he assures her. "And I'll be right back to examine it more closely," he adds, heading over to the loo.

Elsie closes her book and sets it on the nightstand when he comes back to the bedroom, motioning for him to close the door firmly.

"Are you sure you can be quiet?" she whispers again, the bed dipping slightly as he climbs in beside her.

"I do believe so," he whispers, leaning over and kissing her soundly.

Several heated moments later, he's drawing the nightgown over her head. "I love this on you, but I think it will look nice at the foot of the bed as well."

"I see," she murmurs heatedly, unbuttoning his shirt as she tilts her head, allowing him to kiss the sweet spot down by her shoulder.

"And _you_ can be quiet?" he asks again.

"Well, let's just say I think it's worth the risk," she replies, lying back and pulling him down over her.

Mmm," he replies, his lips already ghosting over her chest. "So do _I."_

 **HoHoHoHoHoHo**

"Happy Christmas! Elsie! Charlie! It's _Christmas morning!"_

Becky is standing in the doorway of their bedroom, and Elsie breathes a sigh of relief that she'd woken in the middle of the night to use the loo and realized that she and Charlie had fallen asleep before putting their clothes back on. She reaches over to where Charles is and rubs her hand over his pyjama-clad belly.

"Charlie," she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep. "Wake up, love. We've a rather excited woman standing in our doorway, and I think she's going to explode."

Charles cracks his eyes open and reaches over to where his wife is buried under the covers, giving her hip a little squeeze of affection.

"It's the best way to wake up on Christmas, though, isn't it?" he yawns happily. "Let's go, then, and see what Father Christmas has left."

Elsie smiles as they descend the stairs; she knows full well what Father Christmas has left, because she helped Charles wrap Becky's gifts just four days ago.

But when they all make it to the parlour, Elsie spies a rather pretty, red-wrapped box below the tree that she doesn't recognize, in addition to the two that Charles carried down for Becky, and she catches her husband's eye as Becky rushes over and examines the other offerings.

"Charlie?" Elsie asks.

He quirks an eyebrow, smiles, and says not a word as he turns to stoke the fire.

"Becky," Elsie says, "come and help me with breakfast and tea, and then when we're a little more awake we can tear into those gifts."

"Alright."

Becky follows along dutifully, and Charles gets the fire roaring and glances out the window.

"Elsie? Becky?"

"What is it, Charles?" Elsie calls.

"Look outside."

Becky does, and he hears her laugh bright and clear.

"It _snowed!"_ she yells.

"Ohh, so it did." Elsie smiles and wraps Becky in a hug, placing a kiss to her head. "It was already the most perfect Christmas, but now it's extra special."

"It's special because I'm _here,"_ Becky whispers, hugging her sister tightly. "Thank you again for bringing me, Elsie."

 **HoHoHoHoHoHo**

With full bellies and hot cups of tea, the threesome make their way back to the tree.

"Becky," Charles says, "why don't you see what we've got there?"

Becky dutifully retrieves each gift, carrying them to the spot where each recipient sits. Charles knew there was a gift for him from Elsie, because she'd already put that one under the tree, and he'd brought down another with his name on it from Becky.

"Thank you," he says, and Becky nods happily.

Becky has three packages, which she piles at her spot. And then she carries two to Elsie.

"I wonder who this is from?" she marvels excitedly as she picks up Charles's gift.

"It's from Charlie!" Becky laughs. "You should open it now."

Elsie obeys, with her husband's and sister's eyes upon her as she peels away the shiny red gift wrap.

"It's a picture album," she marvels, brushing her fingertips over the gold-painted scrollwork on the cover. "It's lovely."

"It is," Becky agrees, fingering the edges of the pages.

"Oh, Charlie," Elsie says, looking up suddenly. "Do you think that we might be able to have Mr. Andrews take our picture in town some time? The three of us," she clarifies excitedly, reaching for Becky's hand. "Perhaps the next time Becky visits?"

"That's a marvelous idea," he tells her, his eyes twinkling.

"Thank you, love."

He smiles warmly at her and reaches over to squeeze her hand. "You're very welcome."

Becky is practically bursting, and Elsie encourages her to open her own gifts. First, she unwraps a collection of Scottish poems, which Charles had thoughtfully assumed would remind her of home.

"You'll need to read it to me," he teases, "because I can't make half of it out."

"Silly Charlie!" Becky laughs. "I will, though."

Next, she unwraps a lovely set of gloves and a beautifully knitted lap blanket, courtesy of Elsie. Fingering the fringe on the blanket, her brow furrows as she tries to retrieve a memory.

"It's like Mam's," she whispers at last, her voice catching; when she looks up at Elsie, her eyes are brimming with tears. "From when we were little."

"It is," Elsie confirms, and Becky rushes over and embraces her fiercely. "I know how much you used to love hers."

"I love you, Elsie," she says. "I miss Mam every day, but now it'll feel like she's right there with me, giving me a hug."

"Good," Elsie replies, patting her on the back.

The last gift - the one from Father Christmas - is a music box, which Becky winds up and plays for them all; atop the wooden base sits a snow globe, with a wintry scene inside that's eerily reminiscent of the Carsons' cottage.

"Father Christmas must never want me to forget my stay here," she says sagely. "It looks just like your house!"

"That it does," Charles marvels. "And it sounds beautiful. You must take special care of that; it's quite heavy."

"I will," Becky breathes, holding it securely in her lap. "Charlie's turn!"

Charles opens his two gifts: a pair of warm gloves from Elsie, and a matching hat from Becky.

"Elsie helped me pick it out," she informs him. "Do you like it?"

Charles dons the hat and smiles. "It's perfect. Thank you, Becky."

She smiles, then announces, "Elsie! You've one more to go!"

"So I do," she says,

Becky places the gift in her sister's lap.

"Is this from Father Christmas?"

"No," Becky giggles. "I think your stocking is from him."

Elsie peers over and, sure enough, it appears there's a peppermint stick and an orange in her stocking, along with something she suspects is a bar of chocolate.

"This one is from Charlie _and_ me," she says proudly. "But it was my idea. And we got to pretend to be Father Christmas, because you didn't know about it!"

"And it was a _lovely_ idea," Charles affirms. "We do hope you like it."

Elsie opens the gift, and from the box she withdraws a brand-new camera.

"Oh! But ... this is too much!"

"It's not," he insists, and Becky agrees.

"Now _you_ can take photographs of us!" she squeals. "And of the ocean when you visit, and maybe the little dog who plays at the home, and Carol, and even Mrs. Patmore!"

Elsie laughs, and she reaches into the box and withdraws some instructions.

"I've not the first clue what to do to use this," she admits, scanning them, but Charles immediately puts her fears to rest.

"I know. That's why Mr. Andrews has you in his appointment book for Tuesday of next week. He helped me pick out the right type of camera for you, and he's agreed to meet with you to show you how to use it _and_ how to develop the photographs afterward."

He leans over and whispers in her ear, "Happy retirement, love. I do hope you like it."

"Oh Charlie," she says, reaching to cup his cheek and place a kiss to his lips. "It's marvelous!" She turns to Becky. "And you! How did you know I'd love this so much?"

"Because you love photographs," Becky says instantly. "You always have, ever since Mam and Da had one done. You said that they make you 'imagine what was going on just before and just after that very moment.'"

Elsie's eyes widen. "Becky," she whispers, "that was _years_ ago."

"Yes," Becky replies simply, turning back to her tea and finishing it off. "I need some more tea, please. May I?"

"Of course," Elsie whispers. "Just be careful, petal."

Becky heads into the kitchen, and Elsie puts the camera down and practically dives into her husband's arms. She has tears trailing down her face, and he reaches up to brush them away with a few gentle kisses and touches.

"What's all this?" he murmurs lovingly.

"You are the most gentle, thoughtful, caring, _wonderful_ man ever, Charles Carson. I'm sure I've said it before and meant it at the time, but I don't think I've ever felt so loved as I do in this very moment. I feel like this is a proper _family_ Christmas, and I can't thank you enough for making it happen."

"Well, then," he whispers, reaching down to kiss her slowly, "I must be doing something right, eh? Who'd have thought that the old, stodgy butler would make a half-decent husband?"

"Oh, you daft old booby," she replies, carding her fingers through the hair at his temples, "I _always_ knew."

Becky returns from the kitchen, stopping short in the doorway of the parlour, her steaming cup of tea clasped carefully in her hands. Her breath catches in her chest as she looks upon Elsie and Charles exchanging a beautiful, private moment, and their love overwhelms her. It reminds her so very much of her Mam and Da, gone many years now but always in her heart.

When her Mam died, Becky thought she would never feel complete again. But seeing her sister and brother-in-law so clearly in love, in this beautiful, warm home full of food and gifts and music and warmth, she realizes how very blessed she is to have found that kind of happiness again.

"Happy Christmas to all," she whispers, glancing heavenward and then back at the Carsons. "But especially to _us."_

 _The End_

* * *

 **Hopefully this chapter met your expectations of "Christmas with Becky." Please do leave a review and let me know what you thought (good or bad - both are better than not hearing from anyone at all). :)**

 **I'm off on a short hiatus, needing a bit of time to work on some new projects and assure that my writing isn't getting repetitive and, frankly, boring. But I'm NOT leaving; I just need a bit of time to work in a Chelsie-filled bubble. One modern fic, one failed-but-repaired NaNo, and one … surprise … are in the works.**

 **Thanks to you all for reading! x**


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